#Anon: Accidental curse book

[royalswordconfessions]

ANON WHEN I FIND YOU. WHEN I FIND YOU ANON.

anyway I’m back at the dorm !! I swear if this doesn’t work I might just burn it

Imma… imma sit down, and make some tea that I got from Artemiy…

[schoenpepper]

This Love is Skin Tight

Intro: Vil's love has arms and teeth, it latches onto you and never lets go.

Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, proofread by quillbot, he's kinda nuts ngl, just like i like my men, death idk, yandere, curses and poisons and stuff, like one German word and a couple French but it's from google translate, swear words

A/N: Got overexcited and rushed through my first request. I hope you like it anon whose emoji I can't understand (worm? intestine? noodle? isaw anon what).

Masterlist

The dominoes fall one by one, and it starts with a potionology exam.

One you fail, mind you, but Vil can't think of a more perfect entry point to your life. He's the Pomefiore housewarden after all; he got his position by virtue of his potionology (and poison brewing 💜) skills, so you would obviously come to him for help. He would scold you for failing in the first place, but he would reluctantly agree to tutor you. Alone. Behind locked doors. Well after curfew. He's so generous, really, should you be too scared to traverse campus in the middle of the night on your lonesome, he would even be willing to lend you a room in the dorm (but if it just so happens that the empty rooms are dusty, he's afraid he won't be able to use magic to clean them, and instead, he'll have to lend you his bed). The perfect plan leading to his perfect romance.

"So I got Riddle senpai to teach me!"

What?

His head turns so fast towards your table in the cafeteria that he's sure his neck almost snaps, but he's too preoccupied with your words to care. You chose to have that hot-tempered redhead tutor you rather than him? He's clearly the best option. Sure, Rosehearts is smart, but book smart wouldn't give you the knowledge and ability that his hands-on teaching would give you. You've made a terrible decision; ergo, he must rectify it.

He makes his way over to you in confident strides, making sure to flash you his best side when he calls out to you. "Süßkartoffel, I couldn't help but overhear your conversation from my table. If you're struggling so much at potionology, I could gracefully lend you my time to teach you, even amidst my very busy schedule."

You'll say yes, of course. He's already offered himself to you; what more do you want? He inspects the expression on your face and thinks of how much lovelier it would look once he gained control over your skincare routine.

"Oh, no, thank you, Vil senpai." You reply.

Frowns bring wrinkles, anger brings wrinkles.

Vil has to repeat the sentence over and over again in his mind for him not to break then and there. Maybe you'll agree to his offer if he accidentally drops two cursed sugar cubes into Rosehearts' lemon tea? He can't find it in himself to verbalize the threat when you smile at him so innocently, your eyes sparkling as you spoke. "I wouldn't want to take up your time, I know you barely have enough time for yourself." He fails to reply before the bell rings, and you pat his shoulder twice before skipping away with your merry band of idiots.

He did not spend at least thirty minutes in his room after classes just burying his face into the part of the blazer you'd touched. That would be disgraceful.

The second domino tips over when you visit the Film Research club. He preens like a peacock at your arrival, making sure his beret is snug on his champagne locks and his camel trenchcoat is absolutely flawless—not a speck of dirt on it. He acts undeterred by your presence, crossing one leg over the other as he sits on the folding chair. Lilac eyes glance your way before going back to the set, and he gestures at the staff manning the clapperboard. Vil pretends that he's all too focused on the actors, though he keeps you in his peripheral. Thus, he's halfway to insanity when he notices you're giggling with Ortho by the curtains instead of fawning over his gorgeous figure. How dare you?

You're so annoying.

Why aren't you tripping over yourself for him the way that you should? This is ridiculous!

His hold on the megaphone slips, and the sound of it crashing to the floor stops the actors on the scene. "Apologies." Vil looks at them haughtily. "Your acting was so boring and uninspired that my hand fell asleep."

Ha, see if he doesn't curse that robot child to never be around five feet of you again.

The students scurry back to their original places and restart the scene. Now you're finally looking at him. He straightens his posture to an impeccable standard under your admiring gaze, and even now, he still can't find a way to concentrate on his club activities. No, he wants to drag you over to sit on his lap in the director's chair and have you play with the clapperboard in that adorable fidgety manner you do whenever you're anxious. The scene finishes with audible sighs of relief from the actors.

"Y/N. Come here."

You walk over to him. "Yes, senpai?"

"Did you learn anything from their performance or did you just come here to chatter with Ortho?" Vil's tone comes out perhaps a little more poisonous than he would have liked, but you don't seem to mind it as you chuckle sheepishly. "Sorry, I wasn't watching too closely." You don't sound sorry at all.

"Then don't waste your time here if you're just going to be unproductive." Before he could offer you a chance at being his (permanent) assistant director, you bow at a perfect 45-degree angle. "I'm so sorry, senpai. I'll leave, then. I'm very sorry to disturb you." You walk away faster than he can stop you, and it makes him wonder if perhaps he should just hex your shoes to stay in place every time he's saying something that you so love to conveniently cut off. Would it kill you to let him finish his sentences? The corner of his lip twitches. He takes another deep breath.

He's a little too close to just locking you away in a basement forever.

The last domino falls and shatters his resolve to be a normal person and court you like a normal person would (read: meticulously create a series of coincidences that will have you seeing him in a new light and making you fall for him).

On such a beautiful, brilliant sunny day, he finds storm clouds drawing above his head at the sight he catches in the botanical garden. Leona Kingscholar, of all people, seems so comfortable laying his head down on your lap as you sit against a tree with a book in your hands. At Vil's fuming, Rook drops down next to him (where the fuck did he come from) and gleefully asks a question, plucking the string of his bow. "Permission to hunt the roi des lions, mon roi?" For once, he's glad that his best friend is a freak. The word leaves his lips before he can even think about it.

"Granted."

Whoosh, an arrow flies through the air and pins a corner of Leona's vest to the ground when he makes a move to dodge. "Ah, you were awake!" Rook shouts as he runs over to the beastman with a wide smile. "This should make the hunt more fun."

Leona clicks his tongue and sits up before bolting right across the field.

"Get away, you fucking nutjob!"

"Non, non, this is a permitted hunt!"

Vil watches with a subtle smile playing on the curve of his lips. When he finally turns to you, he finds a numb expression on your pretty face. "My, süßkartoffel, I didn't think that you and that lion were so close." You shrug and close your book. "I was walking when he pulled me down and claimed me as his pillow, so I just went with it."

Sorry, you just went with it?

His smile feels a little too heavy to keep up.

You just went with it? Are you serious? Are you real? What if I knocked you out right now and chained you to my bed? Will you still go along with it, then? What about if I dose your food with love potions?

"I see. Y/N, walk with me." Vil commands, snapping his fingers. You oblige and follow him all the way back to the Pomefiore dormitory in a deadly silent stroll. He opens the door to his room for you and locks it, murmuring a quick curse on the doorknob before turning to face you. "I would like to preface this by saying that this is not the way I wished to confess to you."

"No problem. What would you like to confess?" You have the nerve to beam at him in this situation. Do you even know what he's saying?!

You sit down on the edge of his bed, looking up at him so innocently. So naive and guileless.

He thinks he'd like to ruin you.

He wants to break you down into pieces and rebuild you in a way where you would want him in this monstrous form, all envy and sharp claws unsheathed. He wants to piece you back together with his name in every shard of your being. He wants to engrave you into himself, and by doing so, never be apart ever again. The only thing he does is kneel at your feet.

"Please tell me why you're like this." Vil whispers softly, leaning his head on your knee.

"I'm not sure I follow..."

"I love you." There's relief when he finally gets the words out of his mouth. He should have stopped there. Instead, the rest of his misshapen adoration comes spilling from his lips, confessions of unholy yearning leaving him like a prayer. "Truly, I love you so much that I despise you. I love you like the world loves the sun; I wish to burn in flames to witness your splendor. I love you like the tides love the moon; my heart threatens to engulf shores in watery death should you choose to look away from me. I love you like no one else has ever loved before; they are all embers in comparison to this fiery hearth I've tended for you." He feels your fingers gently running through his hair.

"Senpai..."

"Do you not find me ugly like this? Despicable? A monster comparable to eldritch horrors?" Vil frowns, his eyes teary. He is not a man who weeps, but what he is is an actor of great renown. "My love for you is too intense; it threatens to kill everyone you care for in an attempt to keep you for myself. My love is too eternal; it wishes to isolate you from those dregs of society you call friends; it wishes to devour you in your entirety. My love for you whispers to me with bloodlust, and only your flesh will satisfy it." He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles gently.

"Okay."

"Er, pardon?"

You shrug, patting his head. "If you like me that much, let's be together. So, like, do we kiss now or...?"

Vil stares up at you wide-eyed.

"Kiss?"

"Isn't that what couples do?"

"Pardon? Are we," He blinks. "Are we a couple?"

"I thought you liked me? I like you too. So we're a couple now, right?" You lean down and kiss his lips. You're inexperienced, for sure, only awkwardly fitting your mouths together. Vil thinks he might be insane with the way he chases after your lips, regardless.

[leth-writes]

Twilight saga,

wolf pack x reader who’s dog hates them? :3

(sorry if this is too much twilight i can stop if you want) - 🌌 anon

Hello Galaxy Anon, I love this idea!

Wolf pack x reader whose dog hates them

Sam, Paul, Jacob, Embry, Quil, Seth

Sam

Sighs in pack dad

Of course his imprint has a dog, and of course that dog hates him

He’s so disappointed. As a wolf shifter, dogs tend not to like them. Having a bigger predator around can be quite intimidating.

If you have a small dog, Sam is actually more scared; some small dogs can be absolute monsters because they get so nervous at such a large predator

He tries his best to bribe his way into your dog’s good books. He buys prime meat and bones, the best squeaky toys, and takes the dog for long runs. Especially bonds well with a larger dog that he can take on long runs through the woods

Paul

>:(

Well Paul hates your dog too, so there

On a more serious note, he’s crushed. You won’t let him near your house. Like Sam, he tries to bribe the dog, but he doesn’t really have the patience for it. It doesn’t work/

Hates small, yappy dogs. Please don’t get a chihuahua.

Jacob

Doesn’t really care. Jacob isn’t a dog person whatsoever, so it doesn’t really bother him

He also likes a bit more independence from his imprint, and makes sure to give you lots of space as well.

Just invites you over to his house whenever the two of you hang out.

Might prefer a smaller dog; he finds it funny when it yaps at Paul

Embry

Aweeee 🙁

He loves dogs. He always wanted a dog but his mom always said no, and now he has an imprint who has one, and it hates him? He feels cursed by fate.

Honestly the worst part of being a shifter for him. He HATES that he can’t pet the puppy.

Even worse if it’s a young dog. They’re SO CUTE and there’s nothing he can do

Tries SO HARD to bond with the dog and bribe the dog.

Gives you some clothes to slowly introduce the dog to his scent so he can bond with it

If it works he’s ecstatic!!!!!

Quil

Quil is more of a playful personality, and may have accidentally antagonized the dog, especially if it’s smaller.

He feels really bad, especially if you’re angry with him

He does his best to make it up to you by buying your dog some expensive treats and a new dog bed

Same method as Embry but it definitely takes over a year to work.

Seth

CRUSHED

ABSOLUTELY CRUSHED

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Absolutely sobs

Your dog is able to sense his gentle, kind soul and starts licking him

Honestly after that, you think the dog likes him better!

[lilacs-stars]

shattered reflections

pairing: morgie le fay x fem!reader (requested) (note: reader is merlin's daughter) SUMMARY: you, the perfect child and student, have always been the epitome of righteousness. but what happens when you encounter a particularly annoying VK one night, when you're out doing something you're not supposed to? GENRE: pure, unbridled, heart-wrenching angst (I recommend a box of tissues), action scenes, some light humor, a bit of comfort, flirty banter CW: absent mother, neglectful father, family troubles, cursing, magical fighting, a bit of blood, threats, mentions of violence and stealing, heavy emotions WC: 15.2k (to those of you hungry for morgie fics…you have been fed) BACKGROUND: the mirror of ytirev is pronounced yih-tur-ev, the spells are all in latin (for anyone wondering)

A/N: this got a loooot longer and deeper than I thought it would...seriously how did we get here. I had fun adding some touches of light humor to offset the angst, and experimenting with different pov's was nice too. sooo go get comfy and settle down, and have fun reading this! (the ending is worth it I swear). thank you to the anon who requested this for all the details, I hope you enjoy! all feedback is highly appreciated, I'd love to know your thoughts and reactions!

A piercing clatter sounds from somewhere behind you. You whip around, eyes locking with snake-like slits glowing in the dark.

Shit, you think. 

They finally discovered my secret.

“…can anyone explain to me the properties of goblin mucus?” the teacher of your Magical Artifacts and Antiquities class asks.

A hand shoots up, causing a smile to spread on her face as she calls on the student—only to be met with the reply, “Miss, it says in our textbook that there’s a highly powerful and dangerous artifact stored here, in Merlin Academy. What’s that all about?”

The teacher’s smile falters for a brief second, but she answers the question regardless. “Yes, every class today has asked me about that. It seems like it’s only the dangerous objects that attract students’ attention. Class, turn to page two hundred seventy-five, where there is a more detailed explanation.”

Everyone flips through the pages of their books, more eager to learn than they’ve been for the entire lesson. Your teacher waits a moment before continuing.

“As it says in your textbooks, the Mirror of Ytirev is indeed kept in this school, although it is locked away in a very safe and secure place. For everyone’s safety, and the Mirror’s security. Now, can anyone tell me how it was created?”

You raise your hand swiftly, already knowing the answer from having read this chapter before it was even covered in class, along with the next three chapters. “After the creator of the Evil Queen’s magic mirror originally made it, he accidentally dropped it on the floor, causing it to shatter. He reconstructed the mirror using the larger shards, which became the famed mirror that eventually ended up in the hands of the Evil Queen. But there were still many miniscule fragments left from the first mirror, so he melted them again and made a smaller, weaker version of the Evil Queen's mirror. The small mirror is known today as the Mirror of Ytirev.” 

Your teacher beams again at your perfect recitation. “That is precisely correct, Y/N. Although I don’t expect anything less from the headmaster’s daughter, of course.

“This mirror has the ability to show its user exactly one truth, an answer to any question. But since its original form was shattered, its magic is no longer stable. That’s why it is covered in this chapter,” she continues to the class. “As you can see in the image in your textbook, it is a portable artifact, putting it in Category D, Type Three.”

You look down at your textbook, studying the picture of the mirror, despite having looked at it before. It depicts a vintage handheld mirror, encased in a detailed and ornate silver frame that surrounds the glass itself. The intricate carvings of the metal create symmetrical twin arches at the top of the mirror, ending in fancy loops. In these arches two bright red gemstones are set, their edges cleanly cut and shining brilliantly. The glass of the mirror looks almost cracked, although you know it isn't really.

Just as the thought passes through your mind, someone calls out, “Why is the mirror cracked? I thought the creator fixed it.”

The answer pops up in your brain before the teacher even opens her mouth, but you still patiently listen to her as she explains to the rest of the class. “It’s not really cracked, it just appears that way to anyone who looks at it. The only time someone can see the mirror’s smooth surface is if they’re staring directly in the eyes of their own reflection. When someone does this, it is rumored they will see the truest form of themselves, the truth they desire the most.”

Someone else raises their hand, and the teacher calls on them this time. “So,” they ask, “you can get the answer to anything from that? Like how to become rich or live forever?”

The teacher masks what you can tell is a rather displeased look with yet another—fake—smile. She turns to face the entire class, a telltale sign that the student said something wrong. “Now, as we all know, there’s always a price to magic. When it comes to this mirror, due to its unstable powers, there are many prices.”

She continues her lecture, one that provides you with absolutely no new information, but being the ever-diligent student you are, you continue to listen intently. “If you look at the next page, it explains that anyone who wishes to use the Mirror must first present an offering that is very dear to them. If the Mirror accepts the offering, it allows the person to ask their question.” “And if it doesn’t?” your classmate asked.

“Does anyone know the answer to that?” The teacher looks around the class, before her eyes land on you. “Y/N?”

You brighten up at being called on, before rattling off the information as if it was common knowledge. “If the Mirror doesn’t accept the offering, or if it becomes displeased for any other reason, it will drag the person’s soul not to enlightenment, but to eternal torment. They will end up losing their mind and going crazy, with any form of intelligent life getting absorbed by the Mirror.”

“Correct again,” your teacher praises, and you beam. “And if that's not enough to ward any of you off, keep in mind that everyone who has ever used the Mirror has gone completely mad. No one has ever obtained the answer they sought; instead, they were all lost to its evil spirit. And let me assure you, many people throughout history have attempted to use the Mirror, only to fail. Therefore, it was voted as too dangerous for any beneficial uses by the Department of Magical Security. That is why it is contained here, under the watchful eye of our very own Headmaster Merlin.” 

At the mention of your father, everyone turns to stare at you, as if you’re somehow the reason the Mirror is locked up. Despite the stifling moment of silence, you shrug off the unwanted attention. After all, you’re used to this. Used to the looks that other kids give you when you receive special attention from teachers for being the smartest one, for always raising your hand, for answering questions perfectly, for acing every test and having every homework assignment completed—yet refusing to share your answers (“But if I tell you the answers, how will you ever learn?”). 

Used to the whispers that follow you everywhere you go, rumors of your family life; how your mother must have left because of your father’s bad habits, or neglect, or because she was having an affair with another man. Constant reminders of the past.

Used to how everyone walks on eggshells around you, how they all put you on a ledge far away from them. How people’s conversations quiet as you pass by, afraid you’ll go and report them to your father at the slightest whiff of mischief. How they always eye you when they pass notes in class or plan a prank—as if you weren't already aware of what they were doing—sometimes even begging you not to tell on them.

Used to how teachers and adults in your life expect the absolute best of you. Even when there’s no more left of yourself to give. 

How they expect you to be the absolute best, a paragon of righteousness. You always have to determine the right decision, make the right call, be the epitome of morality and virtue. This is your burden to bear, all by yourself; instead of worries over bad grades or boys, you suffer under the crushing weight of the expectations of everyone around you. The expectations of society.

Briiiiiiingg! The sound of the bell marking the end of class snaps you out of your musings. “Um, Miss?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the sounds of everyone packing their bags.

“You didn’t tell us what our homework assignment is for tonight.”

“Oh, that’s right! Thank you for reminding me, Y/N,” the teacher exclaims amidst a chorus of groans, along with a few colorful words directed your way. “Everyone, please finish up chapter three and be prepared to turn in your report on seventh century runes by the start of tomorrow’s class.”

After all, you’re used to how right they are about you.

…Or so they think.

“Oh good, Y/N! I was looking for you all over, you know,” a panting, all-too familiar voice calls out from behind you. You freeze in your tracks, grimacing. After a deep breath, you paint a smile on your face, before turning around.

A tall man, although much shorter due to his slouched posture, hurries towards you animatedly. His short, dark brown hair is matted against the top of his head, and a thick, bushy beard trails down from his chin, rounding above his mouth in a matching mustache. He dons a pair of thin spectacles that hang low on his large nose, dressed in a dark blue robe with faint golden embroidery and a waistcoat to match. A little brown stick juts out from a hidden pocket inside his robe, an object you can only assume to be his wand—which you are quite shocked he hadn’t lost today yet.

“Dad!” you say as enthusiastically as you can muster, but if anyone had been looking closely, they would have seen the way you ever so slightly cringe as he stumbles towards you. You silently thank the heavens that this man doesn’t pay much attention to anything. Not even to his own family.

Merlin clambers towards you, gripping one of your shoulders once you’re within arm’s length. He pants, leaning his weight on you as he catches his breath.

“Dad, what is it?” you ask him, trying your best not to fall over from supporting him.

“I-I…k-keys,” he wheezes.

“You lost your keys?” This certainly isn't the first time he’s come to you with this problem, and you definitely won't bet it'll be his last.

He nods, clutching his chest as his breathing finally evens out. “Phew,” he says, letting go of your shoulder. “My spare keys to my office…I can’t seem to find where I’ve put them.”

“You mean that big ring that has a copy of about every single key needed to unlock absolutely anything in this school?” you ask, incredulous at the way he nods feverishly. Honestly, how he doesn’t see the issue with what you just plainly pointed out is beyond you.

“Nope, haven’t seen them,” you reply. “Have you checked under the counter? Inside your desk drawers? In the little pockets sewn in the other pockets in all of your robes? On top of a clothing rack? Under the vase of orchids? In the fish bowl? In the left sock from your pair that has those reindeers on them?”

He nods at each one, sometimes hesitating as if recalling something deep in his memory , but then continuing to fervently nod nonetheless. You sigh again. “Well, I don’t know then. I suppose you’ve found someplace new to hide them this time.”

“Hmm…” he mutters, scratching his beard.

“Well, Dad, I don’t know if you heard, but I, uh, I made top student of my year last quarter. For the fifth consecutive time,” you mention, trying to ease into the conversation, albeit very tentatively and with great unease. Most people’s parents would applaud them and give them a prize for merely getting an A. Yours, on the other hand, barely remembers which grade you’re in.

Your father snaps his head up, staring at you with an eccentric haze in his eyes. You feel a small glimmer of hope; maybe he’s going to give you a pat on the back this time, or perhaps offer to take you out for a celebratory dinner. You wait for his response, completely still as if frozen in time, anticipation buzzing throughout every nerve.

“Wait…I believe I put it in the mouth of that owl statue…” He freezes erratically, brow furrowed in deep concentration, before releasing the tension in his body and going back to slumping. “No, I think I already checked there.”

You take a nice, long, deep breath, using up every last ounce of your carefully practiced self-control, which you had perfected through years of deploying in stifling social situations that made you want to crawl out of your own skin, to remain calm in this moment. “Well, I hope you find it.” Giving him one last attempt at even a semblance of a smile, you sharply turn back around on your heel, continuing down the hall to your first class of the day.

Watching the early morning rays of sunshine through the tall windows of the corridor, you think back to the discussion you had yesterday in your Artifacts class. You had answered every question correctly, every fact written in ink not only committed to memory but etched into the very foundation of your brain. 

You wonder if he knows of all the hard work you put into school. All the grueling hours you spend studying, all the sleepless nights you spend fighting against your body’s very nature to stay awake and keep your eyes open just enough to read the page. Heck, you wonder if he even remembers that your birthday is coming up next month—or that you gave him your wish list ages ago to ensure that he gets at least one present you asked for, unlike other years.

No, of course he doesn’t remember, you remind yourself. He doesn’t care about me. He never did.

Just like he didn’t care about Mom when she disappeared.

“Ugh, my nail chipped again. I should find the girl who did these and squeeze her to death.”

A tentacle floating in midair tightens and coils around nothingness, miming the strangulation of an innocent soul with a disturbing nonchalance. A girl with dark skin and long locks in colors such as blue, teal, and yellow, done up in a small bunch on top of her head, checks the painted nails on her left hand with a scowl on her face. 

“Come on, Uli, you’re getting your nails done like, every week,” the god of the Underworld replies, indifference practically seeping through his spiked leather jacket as he chews gum and gives the sea witch a look. “At least find yourself someone better.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Uliana snaps, dropping her hand exasperatedly as she huffs.

A sorceress with purple eyeshadow and two sleek, black horns protruding from the sides of her head rolls her eyes as she complains, “This is so boring.” 

“Well, what do you suggest we do then, love?” a crisply accented voice asks, sounding from a boy with neatly parted brown hair and a golden hook that ends in a sharp, gleaming point.

“Did you hear that there’s a, like, super dangerous magical object being kept here?” Maleficent asks, somehow keeping her voice incredibly monotonous and deathly uninterested, even as her words themselves convey enthusiasm. 

“Yeah, apparently it can tell anyone anything they want to know,” Hades replies. “I don’t know why they’re keeping it here, though.”

Uliana turns back to the group, a malicious glint in her eye. Even before she opens her mouth, the boy with powers rather similar to those of a snake can already guess what she’s going to say.

“How about we go steal it?” she asks, a wicked grin already twisting onto her features.

“You do realize that everyone who’s ever used it has gone mad, right?” Hook asks, raising his eyebrows incredulously as he gives Uliana a look of disbelief.

“We won’t use it ourselves, idiot,” she snaps. “But it’ll be fun to steal it and cause a panic. Right, Morgie?”

Morgie swallows, looking up at Uliana with wide eyes. “Of course! C’mon, you guys. Think of the mischief we can cause with it! We can make people think some kids used it and went crazy”—he leans in, excitement growing as he speaks, making wide gestures with his hands—“and everyone would be so scared! They’d probably cancel school, too!”

Uliana grins diabolically again. “Morgie, honey,” she starts, slipping one of her tentacles under his chin, lifting his face up towards her. “How about you do this one?”

“I-I, uh…” he stammers, uncertainty laced in his voice. He definitely wasn't expecting this turn of events.

“Come on, please,” Uliana pouts. “Do it for me? After all, you’re only stealing a little mirror. How hard can that be?”

Morgie glances up at her again, before tugging uncomfortably on the black scarf wrapped around his neck. “But…it’s super dangerous…”

“Don’t you want to be evil? Don't you want to wreak havoc and cause pain?” Uliana taunts. “Or, are you”—she lets out a faux gasp—“afraid?”

“N-no, not at all!" Morgie exclaims, trying to sound more courageous than he feels. “I’ll do it!”

“Perfect,” the sea witch coos, removing her tentacle arm. “You’ll do it tonight.” She turns back to the group, adding, “I hear that old troll keeps the most dangerous and evil artifacts locked up in a room off the east wing, on the third level.”

Morgie gulps, already trying to wrap his head around the fact that he’d be doing the heist tonight. Hook, jumping off a ledge, asks, “You mean the one guarded by different spells and magical alarms?”

Uliana grins wickedly. “Nothing a little bit of Kraken Powder can’t fix.” She holds up a small vial hanging from a string around her neck like a necklace. It's common knowledge how incredibly rare Kraken Powder is, which makes sense, given how potent its anti-magic properties are.

Everyone catches on to what Uliana's implying, causing the group to all laugh together at their evil plan. Morgie tries his best to join along, but he can’t quite seem to get rid of the uneasy knot already forming in the pit of his stomach.

“You remember the plan?”

Uliana’s slippery tentacles glisten under the moonlight, flailing around behind her in midair. Morgie nods, attempting to still his quivering hands before Uliana notices them. He tries, with a miserable sense of impending doom, to swallow the lump in his throat, but to no avail.

“Here, I stole these from Merlin’s office,” Uliana explains as one of her tentacles drops a large ring filled with probably around two dozen keys, each in various shapes and colors, straight into Morgie's open palm. “One of these has to fit the door. You didn’t forget what you need to do, right?”

Morgie clears his throat, choking out a meager, “Yep.” He pockets the keys, seriously hoping they don’t clink together and make too much noise while he moves. As Uliana already repeated a hundred times, “It’s crucial you don’t get caught.”

Morgie reaches up to touch the vial hanging from his neck yet again, making sure it’s still there—after all, better safe than sorry. Once more, he glances at the large grandfather clock in the common area where he and Uliana lurk in the shadows, waiting. Finally, its bells chime midnight, and Uliana turns back to him as the ringing reverberates around them.

“Go, hurry!” the sea witch urges, pushing him toward the door with a tentacle. 

Morgie nods, hurriedly rushing to the exit. The first part of the plan—a plan he so diligently committed to memory—is for him to sneak out while the bells are still ringing, to mask the sound of the door opening and closing. Thankfully, he makes it out by the tenth chime, carefully closing the door to make sure the latch doesn’t sound by the eleventh.

Okay, I’m really doing this, Morgie thinks as he stares into the deserted corridor. He tiptoes around silently, but still as quickly as possible. Time is, obviously, of utmost importance in missions like this.

At last, he reaches his destination. The unassuming—and misleadingly so—wooden door looms over him, ominous through the lens of his knowledge of what lies beyond it. 

An amateur villain would simply pick the lock and open the door, but Morgie is too experienced in such endeavors to make a rookie mistake like that (Uliana told him what to do, step-by-step).

He hovers his hand above the lock, taking a steadying breath as he summons the powers that reside within him. His pupils shrink into the tiniest slivers of blackness as a dark, magical smoke emits from his palm. He makes a faint hissing noise, reciting an old incantation in a tongue far different from what normal humans use, and the lock softly clicks as the door creaks open. Practically inviting him inside.

Morgie pushes it open the rest of the way, making sure to shut it behind him so as to not raise the suspicion of any night guards roaming the halls.

He turns back around, now faced with a dark, menacing hallway. Walking slowly down it, he looks around with a chilling captivation. Old suits of armor leer down at him, rustic and each coated with a thick layer of dust. Large spiderwebs cover every visible nook and cranny, which makes Morgie exceedingly grateful that the actual spiders aren't in his line of sight.

At the end of the corridor stands yet another large door, matching the first. This one, according to Uliana, has even more security than the other. Time to use my secret weapon, Morgie thinks, reaching to pull the vial of Kraken Powder out from under his shirt. He opens the cap and sprinkles a little of the finely grained dust into his palm, then blows it over the lock of the door.

At first glance, it appears the powder didn’t work, as nothing seem to change. But anyone with an affinity for magical energy can feel the spells placed on the lock of the door melt away without a trace. After the door is unarmed, Morgie fishes in his pocket for the keys. They clang horribly as he pulls them out, echoing up into the tall ceiling of the hallway. He freezes, listening intently for footsteps somewhere outside. When he hears none, Morgie begins the task of figuring out which key fits the lock.

He goes through nearly half the ring (Seriously, who keeps all their keys in one place?) before finding the one that fits perfectly. Twisting it with a swift movement, the door unlocks, and he creeps inside. 

To his immense shock, there isn't a room behind the door filled with evil objects or piled with gold coins. Instead, there’s a…

…library?

Morgie walks inside, utterly confused. Had Uliana gotten the location wrong? No, there's no way. The doors were too guarded for a normal library.

He continues down one of the aisles, wondering why he's never seen this place before. It is extremely large, with arched ceilings meters and meters above his head. Tall bookshelves tower over him, so tall that he can barely see the highest shelves.

Lined against the walls and placed on the shelves are also glass jars and containers filled with seemingly normal items: a seashell necklace, a deck of playing cards, a cane with the head of a snake. But there's something sinister about them; some strange aura that hovers above each object. In fact, it fills the entire expanse of the library. 

Morgie stops by one of the shelves, reading the titles. He brushes his fingers along one of the spines—and that’s when he feels it. An ominous energy rushes through his fingertips, electrifying his every nerve at it travels through him, causing him to realize that this is no normal book. It’s a book of dark magic.

He spins around in a circle, eyeing the entirety of the library. Now that he thinks about it, the whole place has the heavy atmosphere of dark magic. And that’s when it hits him: this is no normal library, and neither are the books. This is the room of forbidden artifacts. It just so happens that most of those artifacts are books, probably containing content deemed too dangerous for normal people to learn.

Morgie briefly considers taking a few of the books off the shelves and perusing through them, or maybe even slipping a couple in his jacket and taking them back with him. After all, all these forbidden books must have countless evil spells and potions. If he and the rest of his group got their hands on these…

However, after a moment of serious consideration, he decides the better of it. He's here for another purpose, and Uliana would be outraged if he only came back with a few meager books, no matter the contents.

Continuing through the labyrinth of shelves, Morgie looks around meticulously, trying to figure out a rhyme or reason to the order of things. No student has ever been in here, and he doubts many of the teachers have, either. Therefore, there were no references or guides to help him and his friends figure out where in the room the Mirror is located. Plus, he doesn’t think any of them had expected the place to be so colossal—he surely hadn't.

After a few minutes of stumbling around in the near darkness, he finally comes across a ladder leaning against one of the shelves. It’s so tall he can’t see the top of it, but deciding it’s his best chance at finding his bearings, Morgie begins the long climb up.

He isn’t really afraid of heights. Not in the way that some people refuse to go on anything more than a few feet off the ground. But he honestly doesn’t see how anyone couldn’t feel at least a little queasy at the high altitude. I must be a dozen meters off the ground, Morgie realizes as he glances down. I wonder what would happen if I fell—

He cuts the thought off before he can imagine the gruesome details. Instead, he looks back up and around the library. From all the way up here, he can see the top of the shelves, and he really was right: this place was designed to be a maze.

On the far side of the area, his eyes spot lots of glass cases reflecting the soft moonlight and flames of enchanted candles. That must be where most of the objects are kept. Chances are, the Mirror’s there too.

He mentally charts out a course through the labyrinth, trying to remember the directions for more than two seconds. Right, left, left again, forward, right, right again, left, forward—or wait, was it right? After a few minutes, he climbs back down the ladder, praying to the demons of the Underworld that he remembers the path correctly and doesn’t get lost.

Morgie makes his way through the maze, growing more and more fascinated by the creepy and wonderful objects around him. He can’t stop thinking about how nice—and useful—it would be to pocket some of them, or maybe come back here and spend more time studying them. Every time he passes by something that intrigues him, his mind immediately wonders if it would fit inside his clothes.

Despite this, he resists the urge to steal things, as he can’t have anything weighing him down in case there are more challenges or enchantments he has to disarm before getting the Mirror. But perhaps on the way back…

His train of thought drifts away as he finally reaches a large area that is surrounded by glass cases, on tables and lining the shelves set into the walls. He never imagined there would be so many forbidden artifacts in total, much less in one place, although maybe that's because he's never really paid attention in class.

From the top of a shelf a few meters away, something catches his eye. A mysterious, eerie white fog pours from one of the highest shelves, dissipating as it cascades down the front of the bookcase. He remembers hearing something about mist related to the Mirror, and deciding it’s worth a shot, he moves closer to check it out.

And that’s when he sees it.

A dark flurry of movement from another one of the top shelves catches his attention. Morgie snaps his head up, brows furrowing as he squints, eyes trailing the structures above him. But he can’t quite make out anything, at least not in the faint light, so he hesitantly shrugs it off and continues towards the mysterious fog—albeit not being able to shake off the strange feeling he has that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

He takes a few more steps, and just as he's nearly convinced himself he’s only being paranoid, it happens again. Now that he’s closer, he can see there’s another tall ladder reaching up to around where the movement is happening, close to the Mirror. This time, his eyes register the shape. 

A dark, human figure moves up the ladder, blending in and out of the shadows. 

Morgie’s eyes grow wide, pupils shrinking back into snake-like slits as a reptilian hiss escapes his mouth. There shouldn't be anyone else here.

The figure freezes in place before turning around to face him, hanging halfway up the ladder. Although Morgie can’t see their face, concealed by a thick black hood, he can tell they saw him. 

He stretches out his arms, summoning black magic that swirls around his hands and up to his elbows again. After but a second of him and the hooded figure staring at each other—which somehow felt like an hour—Morgie throws his arm forward, aimed for the figure.

A ball of twisting dark energy shoots from his hand and towards the hooded face. The figure ducks down, dodging the attack. Undeterred, Morgie hurls more swirls of dark magic. The figure dodges the first few of them, but they must have realized that merely ducking down won't be enough to win this fight, because they summon a shield of buzzing yellow electricity to block the next few attacks.

Morgie quickly becomes aware that he isn’t winning the fight like this; he needs a new strategy. And that’s when he spots it.

He puts his hands close together in front of his chest, gathering a potent sphere of black magic between his palms. The figure stands there, motionless, still hanging onto the ladder.

If you can’t knock them down, pull the carpet out from under their feet.

He thrusts both of his hands forward, sending the ball of magic not at the figure, but at the base of the ladder instead. By the time they realize what he's doing, it’s too late.

Morgie’s magic collides with the bottom rungs, exploding the material and sending wooden splinters flying everywhere. He watches as the figure falls, swiftly summoning a flash of lightning below them as they plummet, easing the crash as they hit the ground. 

The aftermath of the explosion has Morgie ducking down and covering his face with his arm, barely being able to make out what happened to the hooded person. As the dust finally settles, Morgie spots the figure get up, gripping their head as if in pain. They stumble a little, then bush off their black robe as they check for other injuries.

As if abruptly remembering why they had fallen, they spin around to face Morgie. He stares, wide-eyed in pure disbelief, as the figure comes face-to-face with him. Even though they don’t seem to be too hurt, and definitely still alive, the force of the impact caused their hood to be knocked off their head.

Morgie’s mouth drops open as he registers the figure’s face.

There, in front of him, in the forbidden archive harboring some of the world's most dangerously powerful magical objects during the dead of night, stands the headmaster’s daughter.

Your grimace grows as you lock eyes with a boy with light brown hair, hazel eyes shrunk into slits resembling a snake’s, causing your head to throb even worse.

You watch as the realization dawns upon the boy’s face, cursing the skies for this little issue that you now have to deal with.

He knows your secret.

“Y-you, you, you’re the headmaster’s daughter,” he sputters out, disbelief still painted on his face, as clear as day. Seriously, if he keeps his jaw open like that, it’ll fall off.

“Yeah, no shit,” you spit back, not paying much attention to his stunned little face. Your mind is overwhelmed with a swirling whirlwind of thoughts and ideas on how to get rid of this new liability, each plan vying for your attention, each one crueler than the last.

After all, now that he knows who you really are, how you're not a rule-abiding goody-goody, there’s no point in keeping up your sweet, innocent facade. You finally let your mask slip off, the mask that you wear constantly in the presence of others. The mask that you only relieve yourself of when you’re all alone, with no one to see your callous, vindictive, cynical side. Your true side.

Ever since that day, at least. The day that forever changed your life.

“What are you doing here?” the boy stammers, as if it isn't already dreadfully obvious.

“The same thing you’re doing here.” “How do you know what I’m doing here?”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. Honestly, this kid could not be more of a dunderhead. “Look, I don’t have time for this. Either get out of my way, or I’ll make you get out of my way.”

At your threat, the boy, whose name you happen to remember from a class you took with him last year, changes his stance. Morgie widens his legs, arms fanned out besides him whilst summoning dark energy that clings to his skin, alive and breathing, yet submissive to its master’s will.

“Aren’t you like, a goody-goody?” he asks, face still scrunched in confusion. “I’ve heard teachers go on and on about how good your grades are, how polite you are, how you’re the perfect student.”

You roll your eyes, annoyed at his relentless questions. It 's already bad enough that he knows this much. You don't need him finding out more.

“Well, looks can be deceiving,” you respond as vaguely as possible, hoping that it’ll shut him up. Instead, he cocks his head to the side, shooting back, “I don’t really think so.”

You try your best to not encourage him and his irritating questions, but you can’t help but begrudgingly ask, “How so?”

Morgie looks at you for a beat with an intent gaze, before replying, “I always thought you were too pretty for a hero.”

Uh, excuse me, what? you think. Now it’s your turn to be shocked. “You don’t find me scary?” You had always assumed that people would be terrified if they saw your real, unfiltered side.

“No, not really. I mean, I’m evil too. If anything, I find you even hotter now that I know you’re not a goody-goody.”

Blinking hard, your eyebrows shoot into the air. There is no way he just said that. Your mind is uncontrollably reeling at his words, but only for a brief moment. Before you can read too deeply into it, your attention is quickly snapped back to the black magic still swirling around him, growing by the second. Ah, a ploy to distract me. Maybe he is more clever than he lets on.

“Listen, Morgie,” you snarl threateningly. “That mirror is mine.”

“Wait, you’re here for the Mirror too?” he asks, with far too light a tone for a situation such as this.

“Th-that was obvious the whole time!” you exclaim, unbelievably irritated. “What did you think I was here for?” “I dunno, a book or something.” He shrugs casually, before narrowing his eyes. “Wait, what do you want the Mirror for?”

“That’s none of your business,” you snap back, fingers thrumming with the rush of energy as you summon your own magic. Letting your curiosity get the better of you yet again, you add, “Why do you want it?”

“I’m a villain. I steal things for fun,” he replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “What does a goody-two-shoes hero want to do with a forbidden artifact?”

Barely listening to his words, you study him carefully, needing to know the extent of his powers if you’re going to win the inevitable fight that you can sense coming. You see how his ever-growing dark magic stalls temporarily as he talks, probably from getting distracted while speaking. That’s it. Deciding to buy yourself some time, you use this little weakness to your advantage.

“I want the Mirror because I want to use it.” Even though you’re planning on entertaining his pointless questions, you definitely aren’t going to give him information for free.

“Use it? To get an answer?” His magic hesitates again.

“No, to look at myself.” You see the way his eyebrows furrow in confusion, and you’re pretty sure you’re about to implode. “Of course to get an answer, you dumbass! Unlike you, I don’t go risking my life ‘for fun.’”

“What are you even going to use as an offering? You have to give it something, you know.”

You sigh, reaching underneath your shirt to pull out a small silver locket, its chain blackened from the trials of time. Dangling it from your fingers, you show it to Morgie.

“A locket?” he asks incredulously. “The offering's supposed to be something really special or precious.”

“It is really precious,” you hiss, tucking it back into your shirt. “It’s the most precious thing I own. If anything’s going to make the Mirror work, it’s this.”

“Well, you’re not going to get the Mirror anyways. It’s mine.” He widens his stance again, his magic continuing to grow around him. No, I need a little more time, you think, masking your growing panic with an insouciant eye roll.

“Why?” you question. “You’re not even going to use it.”

“I still need it.” “But why?”

“I won’t tell you if you won’t tell me!” he exclaims. Despite his little outburst, you can tell there’s something he’s hiding. After all, you are a master of concealing the truth yourself. “Plus, you know that everyone who's ever used the mirror has gone crazy, right? You’re literally sentencing yourself to a life of madness.” You give him an unamused look. “I’m the top of our year. Obviously I know everything there is to know about the Mirror of Ytirev.”

He gazes at you in a way you can’t decipher, but it’s softer, more sympathetic than his former glare. You notice that his snake eyes have disappeared as well, despite the magical energy still surrounding him. “Then why are you still doing this, despite the risks?”

You falter, for just a second, letting a sliver of emotion slip through. But as quickly as it happened, you patch it back up, returning to your cold, glowering face. “It’s a price I’m willing to pay.” You expect him to drop it after that, but he continues to press you. “You’re prepared to give up your morals? Your status as a hero? You’re willing to lose all your integrity for one answer?”

God, he talks too much. With a sniff, you throw your hands out in front of you, releasing a bright flash of crackling electricity that had been building up as you cry out, “I don’t care how evil I have to become, I will find the truth, one way or another!”

The lightning shoots forward without warning, hot as an inferno, piercing straight through his chest and flinging him backwards into a shelf like a ragdoll. He falls down to his knees, and for a split second, you wonder if he’s going to get up again. Clutching his chest, he wheezes yet still manages to stand up, summoning wispy black tendrils that shoot at you like arrows.

You tuck and roll, dodging them, whilst building up more crackling lightning between your fingers. The last tendril hits far too close to you for comfort, burning a hole in your robe. That would have been my flesh, had it hit me, you realize in sudden horror.

Seeing as how your opponent is summoning even more dark magic to hit you with, now engulfing his entire body, you break into a sprint. Black spears collide with the shelves behind you one after another, barely missing you, as you run past glass cases, each containing a different artifact that glistens in the silver moonlight. Something across the arena seizes your attention, and a plan begins to piece itself together in your head. You continue your dash towards the shelves behind Morgie. Once you reach a section with books instead of random magical objects, you slow your pace. Amidst Morgie's unrelenting attacks, you create a golden shield of electricity that sparks and crackles, almost alive, and which reaches as tall as you. You jog past the shelves, head craned as you scan the book titles as quickly as possible.

Morgie persists in launching balls of dark magic directly at you, smashing into your shield. Your panic rises as cracks begin to form, at first only small fissures, but growing larger and larger with each sphere that pummels your way.

You run parallel to the shelf, which boxes in the rest of the area in a rectangular shape, eyes frantically darting over words with barely enough time for your brain to comprehend them.

Glancing up as a whorl of blackness blasts the books resting directly in front of you, you duck down, yet continue to run. That’s when you see a thick tome, larger than the others and bearing a dark red cover, jutting out from a shelf a few meters in front of you. With your magical shield barely staying intact, you lunge towards it, snatching the book as you fall towards the ground and somersault behind a desk-sized wooden stand to hide. On top of it stands a glass display case, with faint candlelight illuminating the rustic, yet enchanted, metal shield contained inside it.

You crouch down, flipping through the pages of the book desperately, trying to find the incantation you know has to be in there. One time, on one of your random visits to the library—the normal one, not this hell of the most cursed items in the land—you had picked up a text that talked about the history of spellcasting. Detailed inside was a description of one of the first books of curses ever written, which had been banned from production shortly after its release due to the nature of its contents. There had been a small sketch next to the explanation, which just so happens to match the tome now weighing in your hands.

Morgie’s blasts of magic don’t stop, pounding the wooden stand and the glass case alike. You think he yells something, but you can’t tell; you’re too focused on squinting at the fine print on the page, eyes wildly scanning the names of the spells. The desk quakes with every attack, causing your hands to tremble as you rifle through the pages hastily, pointer finger trailing down the lists of incantations. 

Finally, your eyes lock onto the one you want. “Obiectum impedit semitam,” you recite, gaze darting between the page and the glass case above you. It quivers vigorously, yet remains unscathed due to its magic-bulletproof nature.

“Evanescet a lumine irae meae!” As soon as the last syllable leaves your tongue, the glass case dissipates into thin air. Your hand darts up, clutching the shield and shoving it in front of you. Just in time, as the wooden stand protecting you explodes from the force of Morgie’s dark magic, blasting into a shower of mere splinters that rain down around you. The shockwave causes you to recoil, even as the shield absorbs the brunt of the impact.

Quickly regaining your bearings, you crouch even lower behind the metal. Thumbing through the book pages briskly, your eyes skim the ink, trying to find the first spell that can help you now. 

“Inimicus meus, caveto tibi,” you mutter the incantation rapidly, trying your best not to stumble over the archaic words—who knows what sort of havoc that would make. “Transi me et in carcere gelido capieris.”

You peek your head over the shield as you say the last line, locking in on your target. He stands there, panting, worn from his latest, potent attack. Morgie barely has enough time to widen his eyes as the final word escapes your mouth, instantly creating ice stalagmites that burst forth from the ground, crisscrossing as they trap him in a prison of ice. They tower high all around while entrapping him in a circle, frost coating their sleek outsides, which narrow into dangerously sharp tips.

The air turns frigid, and you can see flurries of movement as Morgie thrashes within his glacial cell. Already, he’s trying to break out. Through the cracks between the icicles, you can see a swirling vortex of black magic fighting the freezingly cold charm. Even though it is a strong spell, you know it won’t last for long. Especially not with the dark energy that is slowly, yet surely, thawing out the ice.

Springing up again, you bolt to the shelves on the other side, jumping over small puddles forming on the floor. The book is still open in your hands as you wildly tear through one page after another, the minuscule words shaking and blurring together as you run. Honestly, what kind of asshole decides to print in such a tiny font? you internally rage. Flipping through the large sheets of paper filled with small text reminds you of reading a dictionary. In a way, the spellbook is a dictionary of sorts, with the way every curse is listed alphabetically, in a neat and orderly manner—much unlike your current frenzied state, with how your heart pounds against your chest as if trying to break free, and the adrenaline coursing through your veins cuts off any semblance of a coherent thought forming in your brain.

Twisting sharply to your right, you dart towards the shelf that the Mirror stands on. You stare up at it as you continue to run, eyes practically sending a silent plea while it sits on its throne undisturbed, watching the scenes before it unfold as if viewing a play from the highest seat in the opera house; somehow mildly amused, yet still condescendingly blasé at the same time.

Flipping to the L section of the spellbook, you scan the page for a spell that can help you reach it at last. Finally finish the last stretch of your journey. 

The icicle prison behind you makes a dreadfully loud crack. Your heart only races even faster with a jolt, your breathing coming out only in sharp, erratic gulps that make you feel light-headed, as if you’re not getting enough oxygen no matter how much you gasp for air. 

As you scan the page, this time with a renewed fervor that has your eyes darting across the words, too panicked to even finish a sentence before leaping to the next, you make a very interesting revelation indeed. For whatever reason, the genius who wrote this book decided not to add levitation to the list of spells, but instead included lignum pullelare, which roughly translates to “sprouting a tree”.

Another thunderous boom sounds again from the constantly fracturing icicles, a violent reminder of the ticking clock. You decide that this spell, no matter how absurd, is the best shot you have. Inhaling another sharp breath that burns your lungs, you cry, “Surge, virens gigas, de terra immunda,” your eyes glued to the page. “Ascendunt ad lunam et super caelos!”

A branch smashes into your chest, knocking the wind out of you—you really need to get used to how quickly these spells take effect—lifting you up as a colossal tree ascends from the ground, growing much more rapidly than even a beanstalk, much less a normal tree. The metal shield slips out of your grasp from the impact, your fingers desperately flailing in its direction futile as it falls and hits the floor with a dull thud.  

Your get snapped back to the present from the momentary distraction as your body starts slipping off the branch, with how it's quickly growing into a thick, strong limb with no end in sight. You slide off the ever-stretching wood, scratches cutting into your arms as you frantically try to wrap them around the branch, until only your hands are still hanging on. Using the book, which remains gripped firmly in one hand, you fling it open and cling to each cover. The book's pages spread wide around the wood as you hold on for dear life.

You continue shooting upwards along with the tree, the bookcase racing past you, when a realization hits you like a strike of lightning. This tree won’t stop growing anytime soon, and when it does, you’ll be too high up—if you're still alive, that is.

Glancing above you, you spot the Mirror and the shelf it sits on getting closer, and getting closer fast. Making up your mind, or rather, making a brash decision fueled by your skyrocketing panic, you wait until the shelf you need to reach comes into view. Then, you jump off. 

Flinging yourself towards the bookcase, you manage to latch on to a shelf, fingers wrapping around the ledge while your feet find purchase on another ridge a few feet below. The book remains clutched in one hand, your iron grip refusing to let it go. Realizing you can't do anything while holding it, you risk letting go with one hand. Gripping onto the shelf with your other hand, you tuck the book under your chin, angling your head down as you struggle to hold it between your neck and body. 

You peer up at your grasp on the shelf, the unforgiving ridges digging into your skin, carving painful lines into your fingers. Your feet barely remain balanced, the ledge not jutting out as far as you’d like it to. Turning your heels in to stay on the little shelf space there is in front of the books, you wince as the ridges between your arms and legs bite into your body. The sweat coating your palms causes your grip to start slipping off, your eyes wide in sheer terror as you let go for a brief second, thrusting your hands further back and hooking onto the edge again.

Glimpsing back down, you see the Mirror resting in its glass cage a few shelves below you, the strange white mist slithering underneath the glass and pouring out over the bookcase like a waterfall. With your chin still uncomfortably positioned as to not lose the book, you release on hand and leg from the shelf, leaving you hanging in between life and death itself.

You move your free hand down one ledge below, then the corresponding foot, haltingly scaling your way down the bookcase. Each time precariously letting go of your grip or footing to blindly feel below yourself for another ledge to stay on. After a few iterations, your feet finally stand on the same shelf as the Mirror, right next to the glass case.

Another piercing boom echoes behind you, making you squeeze your eyes shut as you flinch against the bookcase, quivering breaths sending your heartbeat shooting through the roof. Your eyes dart down to the book you squeeze with your neck, then to where your hands are barely clinging on to the shelf. There’s no chance of using the book to make the glass disappear again. Cursing yourself for not memorizing the incantation earlier, your mind swarms with thoughts, each one so loud they drown out each other.

An idea forms in your head—or rather, slams itself into the sides of your brain like a wave crashing in a bottle while it screams for attention—as you warily lift one foot on top of the heel of the other shoe, maneuvering it off your foot.

Now with only a sock left, you press your toes against the glass container. Inhaling a sharp breath, causing your lungs to ache as they scream for more, you muster enough energy to summon a bolt of lightning, focusing all your attention on passing electrical current through your body and to your foot.

The hotness of the electricity heats up the glass, melting it until there’s a decent-sized hole the size of your foot there. Shuffling to the side and raising your shoeless foot to the ledge above, you draw back your other leg and smash it into the glass, causing the compromised structure to shatter everywhere.

Climbing down the bookcase farther, you come face-to-face with the Mirror of Yteriv at last. It looks exactly like it was depicted in that textbook, sporting an elegant silver frame and seemingly shattered surface, with the two rubies staring at you like glowing eyes. 

A loud explosion rings behind you, resounding throughout the entire library. You snatch the Mirror with one hand, turning your head to the side as far as you can without letting the book slip, just in time to see Morgie demolish the ice prison as he breaks free.

It's clear that since now he's no longer bound by frozen spikes of ice, you’re his next target. Taking in an abrupt gasp of air—the only preparation you have—you let go of the shelf.

You plummet towards the ground for only a second before creating small thunderbolts beneath each of your feet, suspending you in midair. Already, you can see Morgie charging up another attack, aiming it straight at you. Book in one hand, Mirror in the other, you take off into a run through the air. Small platforms of electricity form beneath your feet with every step, dissipating again as soon as your foot lifts.

Balls of dark magic hurl towards you, and you already know you have no chance of winning this fight—not like this. But you don’t need to win. Glancing down at the Mirror clutched in your palm as you jump off a thunderbolt, right as it gets blasted by a black orb, you realize that you’ve already completed your mission. Now, all that’s left is to get out of here.

Your mind scrambles for a way out that doesn’t involve getting blasted into smithereens, eyes still fixed on the Mirror as you continue to dash around in midair. Watching the wispy tendrils of white smoke pour out of the artifact, a previous memory from something you read in a book hits you like a flash.

As the Mirror of Ytirev connects to its wielder’s soul, so do its properties, the book had said. The mist emitted by the Mirror fluctuates with the wielder’s emotions; the more powerfully one feels their emotions, negative ones in particular, the more smoke it produces.

A room filled with smoke? You can’t think of a more perfect cover to help you escape.

Grip tightening even further around the Mirror as you leap to another lightning platform, dodging a new attack, you rack your brain for every negative emotion you have—which turns out to be a lot. The adrenaline pumping through your veins as your life flashes before your very eyes from every near-death experience. The way your heart shatters a little more every time your father overlooks your accomplishments, not paying any mind to how hard you strive to please him. Just to get a single smile, a pat on the back, a meager look of pride in your direction. One simple “That’s my daughter!” sent your way.

The anger deep inside you starts to bubble, pure rage sizzling and growing hotter every second you spend lost in your emotions. A fury that is always there, making every breath a little shorter, every happy moment a little duller. A dormant feeling that is usually left undisturbed, except for when it's triggered. Then it becomes a fire that burns hotter than any flame in the depths of hell.

The emotions and thoughts and memories that you keep suppressed in a corner of your heart all coming flooding out, like a dam finally bursting free. How could everyone strand you like that? Leave you all alone to suffer through your grief, while always expecting you to be kind and cheerful. They know what happened, and they have to know how badly it hurts. Yet not a single one cares. Not your dad, not your teachers, not your friends. No one in the entire world ever so much as offered a shoulder for you to cry on or gave you a comforting smile. Not one “I’m here for you” or “It’s all right, take your time.” No, all they did was raise their expectations, setting the bar so high until you’re barely clinging to it, trying to pull yourself up despite your weary arms. Lifting it to such heights that losing your grip and falling would mean certain death.

You think of the snarling, twisted animal that resides deep inside you, embedded into your very being, clawing at the aching hole in your heart left by the absence of your mother. Finally letting it break free after being caged for so long, you feel, oh-so agonizingly, how it scratches its way up your throat and escapes you in a wretched sob.

Why did she leave me? How could she leave me? I’m her daughter, for fuck’s sake. Who can abandon their child like that? Does she not care about me? 

Did she ever even love me?

Painful thoughts consume your head as a few stray tears run down your cheek. You grit your teeth, sucking in shaky gasps of breaths. Smothered by your anguish, submerged in emotion.

Yet, despite all this, it works. Remembering the entire point of your self-inflicted despair, your head snaps down to the Mirror. Although your legs burn and throb from all the incessant running, you can’t stop. At least not yet.

Thick fog exudes from the Mirror, rapidly engulfing the whole of the arena. Within a few moments, everything is covered in the dense whiteness, so heavy you can barely see your hand, even if you hold it directly in front of your face.

Morgie disappears in the fog as well, to the point where you can no longer see nor hear him. Assuming that he’s no longer a threat for now—if you can’t see him, he can’t see you, and if he can’t see you, he can’t attack you—you summon a staircase of thunderbolts and walk down it until you safely step onto solid ground.

Your legs practically give way at the first touch of hard floor, the urge to collapse and lie on the ground excruciatingly strong. Mustering up the last of your strength and willpower, you force your feet to step one after another, desperately trying to distract yourself from the fire burning in your muscles at even the strain of supporting your own weight. 

Almost done. Almost.

Practically rendered blind by the all-encompassing mist, you keep one hand outstretched, making sure you won’t collide with anything—especially Morgie. Pocketing the Mirror, you continue through the fog. You had made sure to note your direction in relation to the exit before everything became completely invisible as to help you easily find your way out without getting lost. But after a few minutes in the overwhelming whiteness, you start to doubt yourself. 

What’s even worse is that there’s no sign of Morgie. You’re not foolish enough to expect him to pop up right in front of you, but you don’t hear him making any sounds either. No footsteps, no breathing, nothing. Your strides are far more muffled as you take your other shoe off too, annoyed at the limping effect the difference in heights causes. But nothing from him.

Your mind starts wandering to what happened to him, refusing to admit that the smallest part of you feels the tiniest bit concerned. Does he need help? Is he still alive? Your intentions were to steal the Mirror and disarm him, not kill him. You’re not evil enough for that.

Not yet, anyway.

After stumbling through the murky fog for a bit longer, you start to notice that now, you can see your hand extended in front of you. The fog is thinning, you think, which means I must be nearing the edge of this area and heading towards the bookcases.

A little bit further, and the fog disperses to all but a thin mist. The bookshelves in front of you come into view, the rows and rows of them finally visible as they expand into the distance. Follow those, and you’ll find the door you came in through. 

So, so close…

You take a few more steps, the heavy spellbook still in hand as you reach into your pocket with an unusual, yet profound, sense of paranoia, ensuring the Mirror is still there. Out of nowhere, you feel a strange sort of chill cover your feet. You chalk it up to your lack of shoes, but, not being able to resist the urge, you glance down.

That’s when you see strange feathery tendrils of black smoke on the floor, in stark contrast to the thin mist that hangs in the air. They slither and wrap around your feet as they move, condensing together in front of you and rising up a meter off the ground in the shape of a hissing black cobra.

The cobra flares out its hood whilst flicking its tongue at you, swaying side to side as it stretches to its full height. You stumble backwards, hesitating for only a second too long before it dawns on you where the snake came from.

Behind you, a brooding voice sounds. “Going somewhere?” Morgie asks.

You spin around sharply, dismay and a special breed of horror painted on your face as you turn to face him. “I don’t care what you do, the Mirror is mine,” you growl, shooting him a lethal glare that truly could kill.

“I don’t think so.” He gathers more black magic around his palm, creating an orb that whirls around like a dark, spherical tornado. You both stare into each other’s eyes for a moment, a fracture in time, trying to decide your next move—when he suddenly throws his hand forward.

You flinch away, yanking the book in front of your face as a shield. After a second, when you don’t feel anything, you open your eyes, turning back in his direction in confusion.

And that’s when you see that you weren't the target of his attack.

The book in front of you was.

The dark magic gnaws at it from the back cover, where it hit on impact, eating away at the pages. “No!” you scream, desperately flipping through the paper as the magic destroys it. Your own magic may be quite strong, but since you're barely allowed to practice it, it’s nowhere near the son of Morgana’s abilities or prowess. This book was your only chance at defeating him.

Frantically rifling through the pages, a look of pure horror on your face, you try to scan the spells for something to save you. Teleportation is soon gone, as well as fireball. As soon as you catch a glimpse of a spell name that could be helpful, the incantation is instantly obliterated.

Panic building faster than even the speed of the dark magic, you flip to the front of the book, trying to find a spell at the beginning of the alphabet so you have enough time to actually read the incantation.

But apple is of no use, and neither is bridge. Morgie stands there, gaze transfixed on your struggling form, wickedly smiling with an amused raise of his eyebrows. Guess he really is a villain after all.

The black energy eroding the book spreads across both covers, demolishing the tome as you hold it in your feverishly trembling hands. Your eyes race across the letters, desperate to find one that could even have a chance at saving you.

Dragon, no.

Claws, not that.

Chasm, not that either.

None of these will help me! your internal voice screeches, the book dissipating as you hold it. Then, your eyes snag along a word.

Chains. The perfect spell. 

“Ut qui inritat, catenas sentiat iras,” you wildly spit out, heart racing, tongue unable to move fast enough. Your eyes dart frenziedly ahead of your mouth, running on sheer panic as you try to memorize the words in case the book does disappear. “Pati in compedibus, ut solvas pretium peccatorum tuorum,” you continue to cry out.

As the last fibers of the pages evaporate in black fumes, you thrust a hand in Morgie’s direction, yelling the last few words. “Eris enim sine fuga ligatus!”

Nothing.

Then, boom.

The residual magic from the demolished book, no longer contained in a physical form, explodes, the force sending you flying backwards. You soar for a couple feet before colliding with a shelf behind you, your head slamming against a sharp edge.

You crumple to the floor, body bruised, beaten, and bloody. The world spins, your head throbs, and you feel so generally shitty that you want to crawl out of your body and leave this physical hindrance behind.

Your head feels too heavy to lift up, and so it falls forward, swaying back and forth. A warm sensation on the back of your skull draws your senses back to the present, and you lift one weary hand to the spot. Bringing it back down in front of your face, you see a whole lot of red smothered on it, just as more trickles down onto the base of your head and neck.

Groaning, you lift your face to scan your surroundings as the dust settles yet again. The fog is now almost completely gone, allowing you to see rather clearly. Sight still blurry, you barely make out the figure a few meters in front of you as heavy chains whip up from the floor, wrapping around his arms.

More spring up around his legs, dragging him down and causing his knees to buckle. He fights against the metal, but they only tighten as even more encircle his torso, tethering him to the ground. He leans forwards, now kneeling before you, arms spread out and chained to the floor on either side.

In front of him, halfway between you two, lies the Mirror of Yteriv, face-up on the floor.

Scrambling to get up, you slowly manage to stand, leaning your weight on the bookcase behind you. The ground sways underneath your feet, but you don’t collapse. One shaky step after another, you make your way over to the mirror.

You practically crumple to the floor as you lean down to snatch it up, the sounds of chains rattling against each other echoing through your head as their prisoner resists his bonds.

You straighten again, running your fingers over every millimeter of the Mirror’s surface to ensure that the cracks reflected on it are only part of its usual appearance and not actual damage caused during the explosion. Once you're sure of its safety, you look down at the figure shackled in front of you.

Morgie looks up at you, hair disheveled and face bruised, a few drops of blood spattered on his cheek. His eyes are a storm of anguish and a wounded kind of sorrow, his jaw clenched tight. You’d like to think that he isn’t peering up at you, body tied and bound, with resentment etched into his features, but you know you’d be lying to yourself.

He gives another violent tug against the chains, but to no avail. Neither of you speak a word, remaining in complete silence, yet somehow saying a thousand things through your eyes. You stare down at him, at the way he can barely lift his head due to his restraints, the agony swirling in his eyes tugging at your heartstrings in ways that make you ache through your core. 

But you’ve already come this far. You can’t turn back now.

The deafening silence remains as you raise the Mirror up in front of yourself, the white mist wrapping around you as if beckoning you closer. The red eyes glow even brighter, their judgment intensifying as your reflection begins to appear in the glass. The cracks on the surface slowly fade away as you come into view, until finally revealing a completely smooth and unmarred image as you gaze into your own eyes.

Except they aren’t yours.

Your reflection in the mirror is not of yourself, but of a younger version of you. She smiles effulgently, a pure, innocent sparkle of wonder in her eyes. A look of untainted bliss painted on her face as she beams. 

A look you haven’t seen in your own reflection for a long time.

“Mommy?” her young, high-pitched voice calls out. “Mommy? Moooommy? Where are you?”

A sob gets caught in your throat as you gasp, tears framing your vision. As if the memory finally gets uncovered in your mind, after being hidden away all these years from your brain deeming it too painful, you realize when this is—or rather, what this is.

“Mommy?” she calls again, her smile faltering as her little brow furrows in confusion, her face scrunching ever so slightly. “Mommy?” She turns her head to the side, looking at something out of view before asking, “Daddy, where’s Mommy?”

Your chest heaves as a sharp cry escapes you, the pain taking a physical form in the tears streaking your cheeks, your face contorting as you weep. In the background, a man’s faint, shaky sobs sound.

The mirror slips from your fingers, landing on the ground with an echoing thud. You whimper, uncontrollably trembling breaths causing your chest to jolt back and forth. You don’t move, can’t move, empty hand still suspended in midair.

You feel numb, yet like you're experiencing every emotion all at once. Your brain can’t wrap around this, around any of this, can’t comprehend your own thoughts. Can’t process what you feel. You’ve shoved your emotion down for so long, that now that they’re no longer bottled up, you don’t know how to deal with them.

“I’m sorry.” The voice cuts through the thick silence, snapping you out of the raging war inside your head.

You glance over at Morgie, still wrapped in chains. His eyes no longer hold the same animosity and misery, but instead a soft sort of sympathy, an underlying look of understanding as he peers up at you, head slightly raised.

“I don’t want your pity,” you sniff indignantly.

“I’m not pitying you.”

You look down at him, your chest heaving, eyes bloodshot. Taking shaky gasps of breath through your mouth, your body quivers as you wait for him to continue.

“I didn’t know about your mom, and you’re totally justified for wanting to know what happened to her,” Morgie continues. “You can take that Mirror and walk out of here if you want.” You keep on staring at him, not saying anything, frozen with anticipation as he carries on. “But are you really going to risk your future for knowledge of the past?”

You gulp before responding, voice hoarse and eyes half-lidded, voice cold and numb. “Would you still hesitate to take that risk, even when it means it could make your future finally be one worth living?”

“Your future is already one worth living,” Morgie replies. “You may not see it, but you’re talented, and smart, and pretty, and you’re a good person. You have a bright future ahead of you.” He shakes his head, eyes still boring into you. “Don’t ruin it like this. Blinded by your pain.”

Sniffling, you inhale a shuddering breath. “And how do you know my pain is blinding me, and not making me see clearer? Clearer than I have in my entire life. Clearer than she did.” You jut your chin towards the mirror lying on the floor.

“I don’t. But what I do know, from seeing my own mother, is that pain like this gets you nowhere. Letting the people who were supposed to love you instead turn you bitter and cynical never fixes things. You may think that becoming evil is the solution, but it’s not. It’s not worth it. You’re not worth it.”

You stare at him intensely, a raw kind of pain displayed on your face, one that no one has ever seen before. A thousand emotions flicker through your eyes, your lips twisting into a whimpering attempt at a smile as you cry again, the sob wracking through your body. “You really think so?”

“I know so.”

Hope flashes in your eyes, reflected in his. Your gaze softens, looking at him as if he’s the beacon of light at the end of the tunnel. A small grin breaks his steady demeanor, looking at you with optimism shining through the glimmer in his eyes.

You reach down, picking up the Mirror again. You stare at it, although not directly at your reflection this time. He peers up at you, still shackled to the floor, eyes wide with anticipation.

You slip the Mirror into the pocket of your cloak once again before turning around, your back to him. Twisting your head to the side so he hears you, you say, “The chains will disappear in an hour.”

Turning your head back, you walk away and leave him behind, black cape flickering in the dark night.

Unclasping the back, you slip off the locket, placing it in front of you. The rusty metal is reflected in the mirror in front of it, along with the tears that splatter on its surface.

It had belonged to your mother, the only thing you had left of her. She had given it to you when you were a little kid, not too long before she left. It was old and weathered, the silver having tarnished over time. Still, you religiously wore it every single day, never taking it off as if it's a part of your body. And sometimes, if you stare at it hard enough, you can almost trick yourself into believing she's still there.

Safely back in your dorm, all alone, you had set the Mirror down, flipping to the notebook page where you had transcribed the incantations for the ritual, without a second thought.

Now, sitting on the ground, the Mirror leaning against a leg of your desk with your locket as an offering in front of it, you start to hesitate. Your face twists in pure agony, features scrunched up, lips quivering uncontrollably as a waterfall of tears splatter onto your hands and lap.

It’s too late to turn back now.

Taking another shaky breath, you extend your hands forward to the Mirror, placing one thumb on each red gemstone embedded in the intricate silver design. The jewels watch you, scorning your every action. Just like everyone else.

Your eyes flutter closed, letting out the steadiest exhale you’ve had all night. “Speculum, speculum, in conspectu oculorum meorum,” you whisper, feeling the way the rubies press into the flesh of your thumbs. Already, the Mirror starts discharging more fog, enveloping you as it grows denser with each syllable. “Accipe donum meum et veritas libera me.”

You open your eyes as the last words leave your tongue, staring straight into the eyes of your own reflection.

The red gems glow radiantly, emitting a bright light that nearly blinds you. You squint, yet still unrelentingly stare into your eyes—or rather, your younger self's eyes. The fog swirls around you, swallowing you whole. You can’t see anything anymore, can’t even tell where you are. You feel as though your soul, your life’s very essence, gets sucked out of your body and into the Mirror.

You have the sensation of being shoved forward, but you don’t fall. In fact, you don't have a body anymore, no physical vessel to hold you. You try to look down, but you're greeted by the absence of your legs, sheer nothingness filling the space beneath you. You can’t really move around either, not in the way you’re used to. All you can do is simply float, your existence diminished to an untethered life force, with some semblance of what you once were.

Looking around, everything around you is white like before, but not in the suffocating way the fog was. Instead, you stand in a wide expanse of whiteness, a vast field of empty space. It stretches on forever, with no end in sight. It’s as if you’re stuck in a blank canvas, waiting for a painter to bring you to life.

The sound of wind whistles all around you, but not so much as a breeze actually comes. In fact, everything is completely unmoving. Despite the stifling stillness, you remain listening to the sound of the wind. If you strain hard enough, you can hear something almost like faint whispers filling your senses.

You look around again, ignoring the eerie voices. According to all the texts you read, after the Mirror accepts the wielder’s offering, they can ask for their answer. You’re not quite sure if this field of emptiness means your offering’s been accepted, but seeing as how you don’t feel insane yet, you think it’s safe to presume so. Still, your brain can’t help but point out that crazy people probably don’t feel like they’re crazy either.

Shaking off your doubts, you decide to continue with the process. After all, it is the only shot you have. You had memorized all the incantations for this particular spell earlier, repeating them over and over again until every word was engraved into your mind.

“Scire volo verum,” you recite. “I wish to know a truth.” Nothing happens.

You take a deep breath. “I wish to know why my mom left.”

The wind around you grows louder, howling even in the still air. The whispers increase in volume, once seemingly non-threatening and benign, now forming a cacophony of overlapping, chaotic voices. They grow distorted and grating, pushing in from every side, wrapping around you and slithering into your brain. You can’t block them out, no matter how hard you try; can’t swat them away, can’t make them leave, leaving you trying to tear them out of your head, despite not having hands anymore.

Suddenly, the white vastness turns a dark gray, and you start getting pulled downward towards something, like moving towards the center of a black hole. The whispers grow claws and fangs, clawing and scratching at your chest as they drag you down, making it hard for you to breathe. 

You try to fight back, but the voices now in your head keep pulling you down. They’ve taken over you, consuming you whole, and it’s impossible not to succumb to their will.

As they continue to drag you down into the abyss, you turn around—or rather, focus on the other side of your vague form of spiritual energy—and notice a tiny black dot very far down, but steadily growing bigger as you move towards it.

The whispers are screaming now, cries of agony of those who came before you, encompassing you whole and forcing you to the depths of this dark chasm.

And that’s when it hits you.

The others who used the Mirror did all end up getting the truths they sought.

And the truth was what drove them to madness.

You panic, trying to shake off the invisible hands of the whisperers, but they only tighten their hold around you. No matter how hard you fight them, they don’t relent in their endeavor of pulling you towards damnation.

“Are you really going to risk your future for knowledge of the past?” Morgie’s words echo in your head out of nowhere, haunting you with regret. You absolutely despise admitting it, but fuck, he was right.

Your last conversation with him replays in your mind, reminding you of your foolishness and idiocy. You had been so focused on getting what you wanted that you were indeed blinded to the truth that had been right in front of you this whole time.

“Your future is one worth living.”

His voice swirls around in your brain, drawing your attention away a little from the screaming voices in your head.

“You’re talented, and smart, and pretty, and you’re a good person.”

You realize these are probably the last words you’ll ever hear.

“You have a bright future ahead of you.”

You feel like crying again, the despair that’s taken root in you fighting to escape. Still, you don’t have an actual body in this dreamscape, so crying is impossible.

“It’s not worth it. You’re not worth it.”

You look back up the other direction and away from the black dot, resigned to your fate as you get dragged down into the chasm, deeper, deeper, deeper. At first, you think you’re imagining it; a mirage created by your mind to distract you from your pain. But as the descent continues, you begin to realize that it may not be an illusion after all.

In front of you, from the direction you came, a faint golden thread, seemingly made of pure light, stretches from your form of consciousness and ascends, up, up, up, all the way to the never-ending sky. With each of Morgie’s words you repeat in your head, the string of light grows stronger, brighter.

“You’re talented.”

The thread becomes thicker and more luminous, and you begin to realize that your descent has slowed down as well.

“And smart.”

The thread grows again, and you slow down a little more.

“And pretty.”

Your eyes follow the string upwards, and now, you see there’s a faint patch of white amidst the murky gray surrounding you.

“You’re a good person.”

The thread, still shooting out straight from your form, gleams with a shimmering golden light now. You notice that you’re no longer getting dragged downwards, but instead up, towards the whiteness. The screaming voices aren’t as insufferably loud anymore, either.

“You have a bright future ahead of you.”

You keep ascending, getting drawn faster and faster up. Morgie’s words serve as your lifeline, saving you from insanity.

“You’re not worth it.”

Now, you see that the white patch is actually an opening, an escape from this hell. The thread leads to it, its blinding brightness concealing whatever lies beyond.

“I know so.”

The last of his words give you the final push you need, sending you straight into the white light.

Your head snaps up with a sharp, terrified exhale. You look down, taking a moment to register that you’re back in your room. The locket dangles from one of your hands, the Mirror clutched in the other.

Fresh tears replacing the dried ones on your cheeks as you let out a sob of excruciating heartache, a sound of pure agony. The kind that no one should have to go through.

You look down at the cracked surface of the Mirror—a feeling of raw, unbridled anger set in the way you clench your jaw, and the way your face contorts with your cries—staring straight at the evil red eyes still gleaming at you.

With a swift motion, you lift your hand above your head, still grasping tight. Mustering together all your might, you hurl the Mirror towards the ground, watching as it shatters into a sea of glittering pieces.

“You’re late.”

You lean against the rough brick wall of an empty corridor, arms crossed, your figure partially obscured in shadows.

“And I’m surprised you’re still here,” Morgie quips, walking towards you. “Why’d you even want to talk with me? Especially through leaving that threatening note next to my nightstand for me to find when I woke up.”

He stops in front of you, leaving you to glower at him. Suddenly, with no warning, you lunge towards him, seizing the collar of his shirt and pushing him against the wall, your other hand summoning a rod of crackling lightning. 

His eyes widen with a startled gaze, but he doesn’t look quite as fearful as you want him to be. “Now, listen here.” You press the tip of the lightning bolt against his neck. “If you say a word of what happened last night to anyone—especially my father—I will kill you.”

Although you try to sound as menacing as possible, Morgie is unfazed. An amused smirk spreads across his face as he replies, “Alright, relax. I wasn’t planning on telling anyone anyways.”

His eyes trail down from your gaze to the locket dangling from your neck. He reaches out a hand, brushing his thumb along the tarnished metal as he softly says, “You didn’t go through with it, huh?”

You pull away, frustrated at his compassionate tone. “No. I decided…it was too risky. After all, what’s the point of figuring out the past if I can’t ever use that information, right?” A small smile spreads across Morgie’s face, that sympathetic, delicate look in his eyes again. Your irritation rising at this, you add, with a growl, “Although I will find a way to get my answer. I don’t care how bad I have to become, if you, or my father, or anyone stands in my way, you’ll truly see how evil I can be!”

Morgie keeps his unfettered appearance up. God, he’s so annoying! you mentally scream in frustration.

“Why are you so fixed on this?” he asks, tilting his head sideways and furrowing his brow as if trying to look past your cold, vengeful, rancorous mask and figure out the scarred little girl buried underneath.

You roll your eyes instead of answering. Never one to express emotions, the thought of opening up now about your years of pain feels terrifyingly vulnerable. It’s so much easier to just build walls around your heart and shut everyone out.

“Tell me this, and I promise I won’t tell a word of what happened last night to anyone,” Morgie bargains.

You narrow your eyes. “You already said you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“Well, now I’m having second thoughts.”

You raise your arm again to summon another bolt of electricity, and Morgie lifts his hands, palms facing forward, in a gesture of surrender. “Relax, I won’t say anything, fine. But I just want you to talk to me. Bottling up your emotions like this isn’t healthy. Last night should be a good example of that.”

You shoot another glare at him, but can’t deny the fact that he’s right. Still, you hate the idea of how exposed and weak you'd be if you actually told someone how you feel.

“I’m not going to leave you, you know.”

You peer up at him, eyes wide in shock, as he continues. “I’ll stay by your side. You don’t have to worry about me abandoning you.”

Gulping, you nod, averting his gaze. Instead, you choose to look down at your shoes, studying the laces as you speak. “I…when my mom left, it was so sudden. No goodbyes, nothing. It was like one day, she just vanished.”

Your voice cracks, and Morgie places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, unknowingly pulling you closer to him. You swallow, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “My dad didn’t even care. It was as if she never existed. And everyone else…they all knew what happened. But they paid no attention whatsoever. They expected me to act normal, be all nice and sweet as if nothing changed. It made me hate them, hate all of them.”

“Do you hate me?”  

Morgie’s voice rings in the empty corridor, quiet yet speaking louder than a thousand shouts. You look up at him again, his image slightly blurred by the tears welling at the bottom of your eyes. You look up and you see the boy that stood by your side at your worst, who didn’t get scared or run away when you showed him your true colors.

The boy who said things no one’s ever said to you, whose words saved you from destroying yourself.

The boy who stands here, a concerned crinkle on his forehead as he awaits your answer. He doesn’t have to be here, listening to your problems. He doesn’t have to care.

But he does.

“No,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “No, I don’t hate you.”

In the suffocating sea of fake smiles and stifling pressures, Morgie is like a breath of fresh air. The first gulp of oxygen that you take as your head breaks free from the water.

“That’s a relief,” he responds, a trace of a smirk ghosting his features.

You give a small, bittersweet laugh. “Ever since my mom left and my dad stopped caring about me, I’ve never had anyone to talk to. No one seems to care about my emotions, or ask me how I’m doing. It’s as if I’m not a real person who has actual feelings.”

You’re on the verge of tears again, and Morgie must realize this, because he tries to lighten the mood by attempting—and failing—to inconspicuously wrap an arm around your shoulder as he says, “So, what I’m hearing from all this, is that you need a strong, reliable figure in your life to lean on, right? Like…a boyfriend or something?”

You duck under his arm, moving a good few feet away from him while fixing him with another glare. “Yeah no, I’m good.”

“Come on, that was smooth! You’ve got to admit it,” he whines, drawing out a small giggle from you. 

It’s been a long time since you’ve laughed like this: a true, heartfelt laugh, not the fake one that you do to appease other people under the pressure of society's expectations. It feels nice, like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. 

All because of him.

“I don’t know, maybe I'll consider it with some time, if you treat me well,” you joke as you turn your head away with faux indifference. 

“Hey, a slim chance is better than no chance at all, right?” Morgie moves closer to you again, as if he can’t stand having so much space between the two of you. “I can see I’ve made some progress since last night, when you tried to kill me.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill you,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes at him.

“Oh yeah? Tell that to the bruises on my body.”

“It’s not my fault you’re so weak and sensitive,” you retort with a grin.

He nudges you playfully and you laugh again, shaking your head with an amused look. “Hey, I was wondering,” he asks, locking eyes with you, “what did you end up doing with the Mirror?”

You give a knowing grin, masking the undercurrent of what’s left unsaid. You vaguely respond, “It’s in a better place now.”

“If you say so,” Morgie replies, his smile returning to his face and lighting up his features once again. He continues to tease you, and you oblige him, keeping up the friendly banter as he walks you to class.

The Enchanted Lake glistens, reflecting the sun’s gentle rays with a bright shimmer. Deep down, under feet of clear blue water and various forms of aquatic life, in a far corner of the lake, lies a bag of glass shards. Next to it floats an ornate metal carving with a hollow center, reminiscent of something once set there. And at the top, two glowing red gemstones briefly flicker and die out, like watchful eyes finally closing.

end x

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a/n: how did this get so long...if you're still here, and if you actually read that entire thing, thank you so so soo much! I'm sending you a virtual cookie and a hug (if you're comfortable with it ofc) because you're absolutely awesome! <3 hope you enjoyed reading!

do not plagiarize, translate, remake, or copy my works, including my writing and images, in any way.

[anjelicawrites]

Because Michael finds math so easy, when he sees the pretty girl in his class and she distracts him, he loves the challenge. Math is hard (and it’s not the only thing) because he has to concentrate on the questions instead of her tits.

When he finally accidentally ends up with her, she realizes that he likes having to do problems while she distracts him. She tells him that if he can get all of the problems on a worksheet solved without cumming, she’ll give him a reward. He’s come very close a few times to getting them all done, but he has never managed to. Is he really expected to be able to do what would normally take him twenty seconds when she’s sucking him off or riding him or playing with herself??? One time he actually did a problem wrong because he wrote the wrong number down when she was moaning and bouncing on his cock wearing just a tiny crop top and the shortest skirt he had ever seen.

-🪴

Let's focus on that time he made a mistake, shall we, 🪴 anon?

Maths for Michael is an afterthought. He runs problems and equations in the back of his head while he's living through his life. That's why he accepted her 'little challenge': solve all the problems and equations written in one random page of one of his maths books while she 'distracts' him and "I'll let you have my arse, sweet Michael", she told him one night, back from a date. Michael didn't even ponder her proposal, he accepted immediately, all of his blood running to his cock at the thought of her tight, virgin arse at his disposal. He imagined he could win this challenge easily: how hard could it be?

Harder than his cock every single time she giggles and plays with her stupid pencil during class, apparently.

Michael groans, the pencil almost snaps with the strength he's using to hold it. He's desperate to keep his mind focused on the easy equation and he simply can't. The numbers swim in his head faster and faster as she bounces on his cock, moaning and whining at his girth.

She popped by his college room wearing a suspiciously long coat, a bit too warm for the incoming spring. She had jumped in his arms and kissed him soundly, pushing his glasses over his head, before standing in the middle of the room, letting the coat fall from her beautiful body with a giggle.

He had almost come on the spot at the spectacle of her frame, barely covered by a crop top that's more a sports bra, and a plated skirt so short it's more a piece of tissue than anything else.

"Do you want to try again?" She asked, already breathless and Michael didn't have to be asked twice.

"So big Michael!" She moans in his ear, squashing her breasts against his jumper. "Oh! There!"

She grinds against him, her cunt so wet and tight around his raging erection that his eyes cross and his hands shake violently as he tries to write.

He's sweating and whining when her hips start fast figures of eight shapes to house him fully. He can barely fit, she has to mold herself around him to bottom out, making him arch his back, trapped between her and his chair.

He scribbles hastily, desperate to finish before she does, his brain lost to the fog of pleasure that starts in his belly and burns through him.

He throws the pen on the floor, grabbing her hips to bounce her properly on his cock, his lips finding her nipples through the sheer material of the crop top to suck them savagely, biting the soft flesh as she's reduced to a rag doll in his arms.

He's fucking her with purpose, bullying her sweety spot and cursing at the way she tightens around him. Faster, harder, hands slapping her arse to make her move at his leisure.

She comes with a shout when he grabs her arse and forces her to grind against him, her clit sliding against his sweaty skin. He follows with a groan, pushing once, twice, deep and painful, sure to leave marks on her beautiful skin.

They don't even make it to his bed, having fallen on the floor with the stupid book next to them.

She's cuddling against his chest, rubbing her cheeks and giggling at the way the hairs there tickle her.

"Did you solve it?" She asks, since he's still reading his answer.

"No."

"Lemme see!"

She tries to grab the notebook from his hand when he doesn't share it with her.

They wrestle and laugh on the floor, until she's on top, her cunt enveloping his spent cock.

"Oh! You made a mistake sweet Michael." She giggles.

"I didn't. I was distracted!"

She throws the notebook away and bends to him, lips barely hovering his.

"I think you need a punishment for trying to hide it from me." She giggles with a dark glint in her eyes.

"What punishment? And it wasn't in our deal!"

He tries to hide how excited the idea makes him but fails, since she's sitting on his growing dick.

"I think you're gonna like it." She answers, sliding slowing down his body. "You're going to love it, actually!"

[valorant-drabbles]

Hallo! I'm the one who requested the iso x reader from last time （＾ｖ＾）

I was wondering if you could make a part two showing how they slowly progressed with each other if it's alright since I really loved the first part and I'm brain rotting hard about Iso

PS - I'll go by ♠️spade anon from now on

Not me accidentally creating a multi-part slow burn Iso fic!! Oh boy

Could be seen as platonic or romantic… but if people want a part 3, it’ll definitely be more romantic.

Gender neutral reader!

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Mild Cursing, Spoiler for Part 1 of this fic

Cold Shoulder

Reader x Iso

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

It had been about three weeks since the incident; since you and Iso had your little quarrel, and inevitably having started to understand one another. It was definitely a challenge for you, since you’d struggled for years when it came to getting along with people outside of work hours. Thankfully, Iso was proving to be extremely patient and courteous towards you and your growth. That wasn’t to say he didn’t get irritated every so often if he noticed you slipping back into your old, cold habits…

But you were making a genuine effort. What more could he ask for?

Despite it only having been a few weeks, you and Iso had started getting along quite quickly. He’d made it clear that you were always welcome to join him if you were feeling lonely- and considering your friend quantity in the Protocol was quite low, you were finding yourself ‘lonely’ often. It was strange- last month, you were completely fine being on your own. And now, if you went a few days without a casual conversation with somebody… you felt an odd emptiness inside your chest. A yearning for connection that you’d thought you’d severed long ago.

There were many days where Iso would return to his room after training to find you sat on his bed, listening to the playlist he’d shared with you. Usually you were reading, or watching movies on your laptop… passing the time until he’d return and possibly join you. Iso knew you had a bit of trouble asking to spend time together, so when you were in his room- it was kind of obvious why you were there. Once he’d shower and change clothes, he’d settle into bed and join you in whatever you were doing.

Overtime, this became routine. On days neither of you had a mission, you’d spend time together in the comfort of Iso’s room… quietly bonding, occasionally starting conversations- though usually it was Iso initiating. After all, even after all this time, he still found you to be absolutely fascinating, and desired to learn more about you.

“What do you think we learn from fighting ourselves?” Iso’s voice cut through the current silence filling the bedroom, causing you to look up from your book, eyebrow raised curiously at the sudden query.

“… what?”

“Ah- sorry. That came from nowhere.” Iso apologized quietly, his gaze sheepishly moving away from where you were watching him. “I was just… thinking about our mirror selves. From Omega Earth. How they look and act almost exactly like us- and our teammates as well.”

“Mhm. What about them, though?” You questioned further, noticing Iso shift in his seat.

“I’ve… had this question on my mind ever since I saw myself on the other team. ‘What do we learn from fighting ourselves?’… I’ve asked a few of the others, but… honestly, none of them had an answer I was looking for.” Iso grimaced softly at the memory of him asking Phoenix this question, only for the Brit to cockily answer ‘How much better I am compared to that fake me!’.

You took a moment to ponder his question. This was something you genuinely appreciated about spending time with Iso- he posed questions that made you think. Nothing too philosophical, usually… but it kept conversations interesting, and additionally helped the two of you learn more about how the other thinks.

“I guess… we learn our weaknesses.” You answer after about a minute of silence. “Though it’s not ideal… there’s certain circumstances where our double will be better than us at something. It’ll reveal a weak point in our abilities… and give us something to work towards improving. Alternatively, we learn the weakness of our double, and how to potentially exploit it if need be.” Your shoulders shrugged slightly, as you bit gently at the end of the pen in your hand. “It can also help us to… uh…”

Your hesitance to speak further piques Iso’s curiosity, and his gaze moves to you. He can’t help but notice your cheeks glowing a faint shade of red. You seldom showed emotion like this… allowing yourself to be embarrassed or even revealing a moment of weakness. Despite his desire to urge you into finishing your thought, he knew pushing you to answer would just make you uncomfortable. And, there was the possibility it could cause you to throw out your walls again, giving him the cold shoulder again- he couldn’t risk that. So, he waited.

As much as you wanted to change the topic or just… leave the thought unfinished, Iso’s eyes on you made it clear that he really wanted to know what you were thinking.

“Y/N?” Iso called out quietly. A sigh escaped you reluctantly, as you turned your body to face away from him slightly- only so that he would have trouble seeing how flushed your face had become.

“It… it also helps us to… see what we couldn’t see before. In our own teammates.” You finally continue, deciding to occupy your twitching hands with twirling your pen between your fingers. “How much our team would do to… to protect us. In the face of danger. The threat of death is always so real when you know the enemy won’t hesitate to kill you… sometimes you forget how dangerous it can be. How quickly you can lose somebody. And… how… if a teammate dies, you might go about the rest of your life… regretting that you never got to know them better. Or you might die with the same regret…” You swallow.

You thought back on the day you nearly died at Pearl almost every day. It all felt so surreal… the rush of emotion you felt when you saw Iso in danger? The searing pain from the bullets that had pierced your body?… the last thing you see being Iso using your Operator to take down the approaching threats…

His words echoing constantly in your mind.

“Don’t you dare die on me, Y/N.”

You’d always been so cold towards him… never giving him any reason to like your company. And yet… Iso risked his own life to save yours. With no hesitation.

“Y/N.” It was only after feeling Iso’s hand on your own that you realized he’d been calling your name. His voice was gentle, worry lacing the elegance he spoke your name with. His gaze on you was equally as concerned. It was only in that moment, seeing your own reflection in his eyes, where you notice you’d started crying.

“Shit.” You pull your hand away from Iso’s, and quickly moved to wipe your face of any tears that may had fallen. This was… new. You never let such fragile emotions show in front of the other agents… you only ever let out your piled up emotions behind closed doors, where nobody could see. Where nobody could know. “Sorry, I don’t… know why I’m crying. Can you just forget I said any of that?” You requested, though your voice wavered as you spoke, making you cringe internally. Were you truly so emotional when you thought back on that day…?

Without another word, you found yourself being pulled into Iso’s lap, his arms wrapped around you comfortingly, yet not intrusively. Physical contact wasn’t something you were used to either, but… in that moment? It felt… incredible. You needed this… so badly. For how long you’d needed it for, you didn’t know. You just knew you never wanted this moment to end- as soft as that sounded.

“I’m… not going to let either of us die with that regret.” Iso promised ever so softly, with his head resting comfortably against your shoulder. “And believe me, I don’t intend on dying anytime soon. So you don’t have to worry to much about missed opportunities to… get to know each other. And stuff.”

You kept your face hidden away from Iso; thankful he wasn’t making an effort to look regardless. You felt incredibly vulnerable in that moment… so you truly appreciated that Iso was making the effort to give you some level of privacy. At least as you attempted to pull yourself together again.

“I… I’m glad that… you didn’t give up on me.” You mumble gently against his chest. “… even though I was kind of an asshole to you.”

“Oh, no. You were a total asshole.” Iso chimed. You could just hear the grin on his face through his voice. It made you want to strangle him… not to death, per se.

“… besides. There’s no way I’d give up on someone as… incredible as you.”

Iso’s hand managed to find yours once again, and slowly, gently, you found your fingers intertwining with his without even thinking about it. The previously jarring silence in the room had been replaced with an air of comfortable quiet, as the two of you sat in each other’s company.

You never thought you’d have this thought towards another agent… but…

You really did enjoy Iso’s company. To what extent?… You were unsure.

Yet you enjoyed it regardless.

[midnight-rain-fics]

Delicate

{Mirrorball Part 2}

{Fandom: Grishaverse}

{Pairing: Kaz Brekker x fem! reader x Jesper Fahey}

Summary: After accidentally confessing her feelings for her best friend and her boss, Y/N chooses to get drunk rather than facing the consequences of her actions.

A/N: I wrote this instead of going to sleep, curtesy of ❣️anon because positive feedback is really the best motivation of all. Also “schat” is a nickname used in the story, it means darling or treasure in Dutch.

“Is it cool that I said all that?

Is it too soon to do this yet?

'Cause I know that it's delicate”

Jesper was never good at waiting. He never had the patience of sitting idly as the hands of the clock struck by absentmindedly.

Even now, as he sat on the sofa with Kaz and Matthias at the Slat, he couldn't help the constant tapping of his boot against the wooden floor.

Kaz released a long sigh, no doubt annoyed by Jesper, and craned his neck to look at the entrance of the Slat. His jaw ticked as there was still no sign of anyone entering.

"When did they say they will be back again?" Jesper asked Matthias, who was sitting on the lone chair opposite Kaz, a book in his hands.

"They didn't," Matthias said, without looking up from his book.

Jesper vaguely remembered Y/N gifting it to Matthias for his birthday. None of the crows had known Matthias's birthday, except Y/N.

She had organized a surprise dinner for him, baked him a cake and gotten him a gift. Matthias had been nearly brought to tears as he hugged her and thanked her profusely.

And all Y/N did was smile. That damned smile. Jesper thinks his heart might have stopped the day she first gave him that smile.

Y/N was his best friend, just as Kaz was, even if he refused to admit it. And Jesper, curse his bad luck, had fallen in love with them both.

And now there might be a chance they might love him back, considering Y/N's confession last night but he couldn't know for sure because after stealing his heart and his breath, Y/N had proceeded to run up to her room as if hounds were chasing her.

And then she had avoided both Kaz and him the next day, going as far as to go drinking with Nina, just to avoid facing the aftermath of her confession.

And now Jesper was waiting, something that he absolutely loathed, just so he could see her again. Just so he could tell her everything that he had been keeping to himself.

Jesper risked a glance at Kaz, and to his surprise, Kaz was already looking at him. Jesper’s heart thrummed erratically in his chest, matching the pace of his foot tapping on the floor.

Kaz’s cane rested against his calf, stopping his movements, the weight was a surprise but not unwelcome. It was Kaz’s way of grounding Jesper in the present.

“Calm down, she will be back soon” Kaz mumbled low enough so only Jesper could hear him.

Loud, obnoxious laughter filled the Slat as Nina and Y/N drunkenly stumbled in. Jesper, Kaz and Matthias stood up immediately as the two girls nearly knocked into a table as they made their way towards them.

Y/N’s feet were barefoot and Nina seemed to be carrying the boots that she had been previously wearing.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she caught sight of Jesper and Kaz and she rushed towards them, stopping in front of Jesper, “There’s my boys!”

Jeaper could only watch in amusement as Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck, “I missed you, Jesper”

“I missed you too, love” Jesper chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled back a little and looked down at her, brushing some hair out of her face, “Let’s get you to bed, yeah? I think you’ve had too much fun without me”

But Y/N wasn’t listening to him anymore, her eyes had connected with Kaz’s over Jesper’s shoulder and she was too busy staring at him.

“I missed you too, Kaz” Y/N said, lips pulled into a pout as she carelessly reached a hand out before abruptly pulling it back. The pout was ever present as Y/N put her head on Jesper’s shoulder, eyes still on Kaz.

Jesper didn’t have to turn around to see that Kaz had grown tense, the air had started to thicken with something that always fizzled between them when they were all together.

Jesper didn’t even notice Matthias lead a drunk Nina out of the room as he picked up Y/N and made a beeline for the stairs, stopping only to hear the clacking of Kaz’s cane behind him as he stopped outside Y/N’s door.

He waited for Kaz to open the door and gently put Y/N on the bed. He took a seat beside her, taking off her jacket and fixing her shirt before tucking a blanket around her.

Jesper could feel Kaz’s heated gaze on them as he ran a hand through Y/N’s hair, calming her down slightly. Y/N groaned, rubbing a hand down her face.

"Why did you drink so much, Y/N?" Jesper whispered, Y/N’s head leaning on his shoulder as she snuggled into his side.

Kaz stood at Y/N’s desk, pretending to overlook something to avoid looking at Jesper and Y/N. It made his skin itch to see them together, to not….to not be with them.

Kaz knew what they both wanted, who they wanted. But could he really be that person? What could he give them that they couldn’t give each other? He would just be an unwelcome addition to what they were. Never fully there.

Even if he wanted to be.

"Because you both hate me now" Y/N mumbled, her voice heartbreakingly small, she fiddled with the buttons on Jesper’s waistcoat, "And so I had to get over you"

"And did you?" Kaz didn’t mean for his voice to come out as cold as it did but the warning glare from Jesper was enough to let him know his frustrations towards his own shortcomings had seeped into his tone.

"No" Y/N mumbled, gone was the joyous phase of her drunkness, replaced by melancholy shining in her eyes. She hiccuped, meeting Kaz’s eyes, "I like you both too much, it's a problem"

"Oh, Y/N,” Jesper’s heart broke at the words, he stroked her hair and pressed a kiss to her temple.

"It's not fair, I love you but you don't love me,” Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes but she refused to let them fall. She was a crow, damnit! She wasn’t going to let her feelings ruin her friendships.

She had fought too hard to get where she was, and even if her feelings were unrequited, she would not lose her family, the crows, over it.

But was it truly so terrible? To love someone and to be loved in return?

"And who told you that, Y/N?"

Y/N tilted her head, eyebrows furrowed in thought. Kaz took a step forward and sat on the edge of her bed, one hand gripping his cane and the other stretched on the bed, centimetres from Y/N's.

"Who told you that I don't hold any affection for you" Kaz’s rasp filled the silence of the room, his words heavy with unsaid words and unspoken confessions. His gaze flittered to Jeaper who was watching them with bated breath, "Either of you"

"Do you?" Jesper asked, he was terrified to hope that Kaz would reciprocate his feeling. Their feelings. Because hope was dangerous but hope was all he had.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't" 

And truly, what more could Kaz say? Here he was, despite knowing better, despite his instincts telling him to turn around and walk away, even if it hurts, here he stood.

Exposed for them to pick at as they liked, just because he could not bare to see the hurt in Jesper’s eyes or the disappointment on Y/N’s face.

"Oh" Y/N mumbled, eyes switching between Jeaper and Kaz before a small smile graced her lips and she settled back in her pillows, still snuggled in Jesper’s side.

"Yes, oh,” Kaz rolled his eyes but the fondness was clear as day as he tapped her blanket, just above her knee, with his gloved hand, "Now go to sleep"

"Will you both stay? Just until I fall asleep"

"Of course, love"

“If I must”

“I want you to, Kaz”

“Then I will stay. Now go to sleep, Y/N”

Despite going to bed at Saints knows what time, Y/N woke up early as she usually did. She begrudgingly got out of bed, and even as her head hurt and nausea crawled up her throat, she made her way to the kitchen, a blue shawl wrapped around her shoulders for warmth.

"Good morning, love" Jesper greeted cheerfully as Y/N slumped down on the chair beside him, "How are you feeling?"

Y/N let out a yawn and mumbled something that sounded unintelligible even to her own ears. Her sleep-lidded eyes closed as Y/N placed her head on the kitchen counter, the cool stone caressing her cheek pleasantly.

"What was that?"

"Only goats can understand that, Y/N" Kaz’s voice was softer than usual in the mornings and Y/N’s own heart hummed with joy at hearing it.

Mornings with Kaz and Jesper were sacred to Y/N, even before last night. They were the only ones awake at this hour, and she had a suspicion they had all adjusted their sleep patterns to wake up early just to have these first rays of the morning sun to themselves.

This moment in time existed for them alone; when Kaz’s cold exterior was chipped away to reveal a slightly less concrete armour and Jesper’s face relaxed in an easy smile, his presence filling the room with warmth.

This moment was hers. They were hers.

"I will get back to you with an answer within 5-7 business days, Jes" Y/N lifted her head, placing it on her palm and answered the boy sitting beside her.

She turned her gaze to meet bitter coffee-brown eyes staring at her, "Oh and screw you, Kaz"

"We aren't there yet, schat" Kaz’s lips pulled up in a slight smirk as he took a sip of his black coffee, which Y/N was sure contained more than 3 spoonfuls of sugar.

Who was he trying to fool with that black coffee? She had no idea.

Jesper choked on his food and Y/N patted his back, stealing a piece of toast off his plate with her other hand. Her head throbbed with the hangover that she was currently nursing.

Y/N turned her gaze away from a wide-eyed Jesper to a smug Kaz, her eyes narrowed in mock irritation, "I hate you"

"That's not what you said last night"

"Saints Kaz!" Y/N exclaimed, her eyes wide with incredulity as she hid her blushing face in her hands, "Why are you doing this today?"

"Because you have a hangover, Y/N" Jesper chuckled, pushing a plate of toast towards her and passing her the cup of coffee that Kaz had poured, just as she liked it.

“He is being mean today”

"He’s mean every day"

"What was that, Jes?”

"Nothing"

“That’s what I thought”

[foxglovepng]

Hello, first time requesting anything and I hope I do this right. I like what you've posted previously and I hope you enjoy this request idea.

I saw screenshots of a post recently about a TWST x Tinkerbell/Pirate Fairy event where shenanigans happens and everyone's UM's are switch around.

But what if Yuu got someone else's UM? Would they go power mad? OB by accident because they couldn't control the amount of magic? Just chill until the fairies corrected the switch? How would the owner of the UM deal with Yuu handling their power feel? And how would they feel about being magicless for the time being?

Suggested students are Grim, Azul, Jamil, Vil and Deuce, or anyone else you would prefer, all of them are fun options.

Hope you are doing well 💜

Characters: Idia, Azul, Jamil, Vil, Deuce, Jade, Malleus.

CW: Swearing, Probably an OOC Vil, Azul has a mental breakdown, Idia freaks out. SPOILERS FOR BOOK 6 (Idia), SPOILERS FOR BOOK 7 (Malleus), Probably OOC most characters tbh.

A/N: I heavily loved this movie as a child and I still love it and watch it on occasion. I know this movie so well I can predict the dialogue :sob: I switched out Grim for Idia because I believe there is a mention that Grim had a curse in Book 6 (correct me if I am wrong) But it was while Idia was discussing some possible theories about the Overblots. Because I loved this movie so much and I am watching it as a I write I will be yapping...a lot. Like just yap yap yap yap and I will be making more parts to this because I have a lot of Ideas. I also added Malleus because he is the only one in Diasmonia with a confirmed/offical UM.

I will also be calling you the Fairy 🧚anon <3

Feel free to let me know which fairy(ies) are your favorite. I love Vidia and Fawn.

W/C: Didn't check Fox yaps a lot (2.540k, 7 pages)

NOT PROOFREAD

For context there will be a Mage like Zarina who was obviously an outcast and who was very innovative and wanted to discover new things (Such as the Fairy Dust) The way I imagine it the mage probably wanted to do things that were considered "Illegal" for Mage magic the NRC students ran into this person and they used their UM to switch the powers of students.

(Character's relationships can be read as platonic or romantic)

Deuce (Bet the Limit)

He is not worried. Although he'd be more concerned about Yuu accidentally using it mid class and hurting someone. His UM is mainly dependent on others attacks so I don't think there would be an issue about hurting someone deeply to the point of hospitalization.

He is worried about the fact he can't use magic anymore. He used his flaunt his magic a lot in middle school now he's not no power (Karma really came back for him didn't it)

If Yuu casually happens to get his ability to summon cauldrons it would be hilarious if Yuu dropped a cauldron "Accidentally" On Ace or Crowley's head. He'd feel bad, but It'd be funny.

(Insert video of Ace getting bashed in the head with a Cauldron but it's bad apple.)

He'd eventually adapt to losing his magic, but he does want to try and get it fixed.

He will help Yuu as much as he can with controlling his magic. If they have any questions he will gladly answer them and help to the best of his ability.

Yuu is least likely to go power mad due to Deuce's UM being low on the list for Powers that will make Yuu go bat-shit insane and commit world domination. (Yes I have an actual list)

When Yuu Overblots

He would probably cry like genuinely.

Yuu has gone through enough in TWST and when they finally snap he would be extremely worried for Yuu because he is scared they will get hurt badly/hurt others badly.

Deuce's UM is actually scary so when it comes to overblotting Yuu could hurt A LOT of people.

Riddle's UM won't be able to help and Yuu could just basically absorb every attack that hits them.

Yuu could probably kill someone with his power and that is a really scary though to think about.

(Deuce can too since it is quite his power)

On a skill level there is a possibility Yuu could lose control of the magic, on a power level they could injure a lot of people. Either way Yuu and other people will be getting hurt.

If they somehow stop Yuu's overblot GET THEM THERAPY INSTANTLY make Leona or someone else rich pay for it.

Deuce would look like a sad puppy because he just witnessed his friend he deeply cares about just snap. Probably wouldn't leave Yuu's side while they recover.

He probably feels the most guilty as he couldn't do anything and wished he could have helped more.

Peep Grim crying about his henchman.

If Yuu DOES kill someone um mage jail? or how would that work since they aren't from TWST would they like be in custody in their own world???? because quite literally they have no information on Yuu to send them to Mage Jail.

I'm done yapping moving on

Azul (It's a Deal)

Instant panic attack instantly.

Considering his backstory and why he is becoming a Mage he would definitely freak out over not having his powers. Bro needs his octopot.

When he learns it was Yuu who got his powers he would feel a bit more relieved

"Yuu can I have my powers back? just make a deal with me."

"HOW TF DO I DO THAT????"

Jade and Floyd are laughing their asses off when he tries to teach you how magic works. They are not going to do anything to help AT ALL.

Azul does NOT feel happy about being powerless at ALL. He has a business to keep running and Yuu is struggling.

I can imagine Yuu accidentally making a contract and stealing someone else's power and then having to keep THAT ONE under control.

Overall I feel like Azul makes top 5 of "Yuu will have a panic attack from being unable to control this power"

Azul would probably adjust to the change but he would not be happy with it at all.

There is a possibility Yuu could go power mad, but Azul is based on capitalism Yuu is not. They would probably only go power mad as a way for threatening/bargaining to go home.

When Yuu Overblots

Pray Yuu has the power under control

Azul's Overblot 2.0 except no tentacles

Azul tries to help the best he can and then gets blasted with magic right in the face. (L bozo)

When Yuu just snaps Azul wishes he could of down more, but he realizes he only was helping Yuu for himself. Not for them. They had to deal a lot and he probably was the one that broke the camels back for them to overblot.

On a skill level and Power level it would probably be the same as Azul's however Yuu has less control over the power.

Yuu is getting back for when he overblotted. /hj

When Yuu unoverblots Azul gives them an apology and also starts the process for them to see a therapist. Probably get's an earful from Deuce and Ace about pushing Yuu over the edge.

Jade (Shock The Heart)

Is not worried.

He doesn't need magic to intimidate people although he needs magic to obtain information.

"Oya? it appears the prefect has my power."

You know how Azul and Deuce would help? He wouldn't

When it comes to Jade's power it can easily be exploited to gain all kinds of information from someone and in the wrong hand's world domination can be caused.

Yuu gets help anyway from Tweedle Dee and Dum over at Heartslabyul.

Yuu would accidentally use Jade's power on people and would probably gain information they wouldn't want to know and probably has gotten traumatized.

Begs Jade to take his power back and he just giggles at Yuu. He is fine with not using Magic, but it is funny to see Yuu attempt to use his magic.

He's enjoying you struggle. However if it gets to a certain point he may help keyword may.

When Yuu overblots

No one is worried lmao.

I mean overblotting is bad, but Jade's power is like so??? normal?? that an overblot would be dangerous, but his conditions are it can only be used once so if Yuu acivates it they probably wouldn't be able to use it again.

hopefully..

If not they are royally fucked tbh.

Jade can't do anything at all and probably will get grilled later for not helping Yuu.

When they unoverblot Yuu Jade is the first one to get them to the infirmary carrying them bridal style (slay king) and making sure they recieve proper treatment. Also apologises for not helping them learn as he was worried they would go power mad.

Jamil (Snake Whisperer)

He is flipping out.

Number 1. Yuu just got this power and barely can control it IMAGINE WHAT COULD HAPPEN.

(Manipulate Crowley into sending them home)

Number 2. Jamil needs his magic and as Kalims retainer he needs it more than Yuu :sob:

Jamil is already stressed out with wrangling Kalim 24/7 now he has this on his hands. Bro just might overblot from stress.

Either way he helps Yuu with gaining control because Yuu almost made Ace choke on his food from accidentally using the UM. And almost made Jack run into a tree (It was funny actually)

We all know how Jamil's overblot turned out someone call up the Octotrio to deal with this again.

There is a possibility Yuu could go power mad. However Yuu is a sweetheart (possibly) and wouldn't control their friends.. right?

Jamil physically can't adjust to being magicless and tries to literally hunt the person down but fails miserably.

When Yuu overblots

I dare Yuu to throw everyone who's fighting so Jamil can get yeeted too (I'd be funny I swear)

Jamil overblot 2.0 except Yuu loses control and accidentally brainwashes everyone. whoops

Jamil got his Karma from brainwashing the whole dorm

Wait if he can brainwash the whole dorm could he brainwash all of NRC? 😨

When Yuu snaps Yuu is coming for everyone INCLUDING CROWLEY his ass is not getting saved.

I pray for everyone who is fighting Yuu. Compared to Deuce's though I'd rather get brainwashed tbh.

If Yuu somehow manages to get pulled out Kalim is making sure everyone who was affected is okay and Jamil is rushing Yuu to the infirmary. When Yuu snaps it would be dreadful tbh and I don't think people would make it out of this OB with Yuu unless they physically got hurt to the point of unconsciousness, or Malleus was like "No don't overblot you're too sexy aha".

Jamil also apologizes for not being able to do enough and makes sure Yuu sees a therapist.

Snake whisperer overblot Yuu and Bet the Limit overblot Yuu are genuinely scary and I'm terrified.

Vil (Fairest One of All)

Instant panic

Vil's UM is so powerful that when a curse is placed with conditions it cannot be lifted even with Vil's interference unless the conditions are met.

Imagine Yuu with that power. Crowley suddenly has a way for Yuu to get home.

Vil would be more concerned with his potato having a power they CANNOT control. Yuu will be accidentally placing curses on people.

Ace would suddenly get paralyzed from the neck down and Yuu didn't know how they did it.

Yuu accidentally paralyzing people is crazy.

Vil helps Yuu try to gain control of the power but has a really hard time.

This is another one where if Yuu were to overblot it would be because they accidentally use the UM too much and are stressed because of it.

Vil doesn't mind being magicless however do NOT let his father figure that out he might force Vil out of NRC into modeling.

When Yuu overblots

Uncontrolled curse magic with a stressed-out overblotting Yuu. Yeah this is up there with Bet the limit and Snake Whisperer.

Someone is probably dying.

Vil almost killed Neige for gods sake imagine what YUU COULD DO.

Vil tried to curse Yuu mid overblot but forgot he couldn't use magic.

Vil is actively sending Rook after the mage who switched powers. Vil wants his potato back.

If Yuu manages to snap out of an OB Vil is also the one making sure Yuu gets treatment. He will also pay for their therapy and treatments.

When Vil gets his hand on the mage she will not be existing anymore /hj

!!!SPOILERS FOR IDIA AND MALLEUS BELOW SPOILERS I REPEAT SPOILERS I SAID SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS!!!

You have been warned

Idia (Game, Set, Match)

Every time I say Yuu is terrifying with a certain OB It gets worse. (I should make a list tbh)

Idia is freaking the hell out. Probably has a panic attack but we aren't there yet.

Idia's UM literally control the gates to the underworld and basically keeps the blot monsters in and if Yuu accidentally opens that.

I pray for everyone's safety.

Idia has probably headed a warning about this and is actively hunting down the mage. Ortho is helping too.

This is one of those where I say Yuu should not have it because with one wrong move and hundreds if not thousands of people could get hurt.

Idia is panicking Yuu is panicking Ortho is trying to calm them down.

Yuu most likely overblots because Idia is freaking them out, and they don't want to open the gates to hell.

I wonder if one of his parents could also open and close the gate with their magic that will literally help.

When Yuu overblots

Run everyone the gates of hell opened again.

If I had a nickel for every time someone overblotted and opened the gates of hell I'd have two nickels. It's not a lot of nickels, but it is weird that it happened twice.

Idia is making sure the literal gates of hell did NOT open, and surely enough they did.

Crowley is probably getting sued

In Theory the battle could be easy however when it comes to the UM someone tell Yuu to close the gates.

Blot monster domination 2.0

Ortho manages to hunt the mage down, but only until after the overblot is over and the gates have opened.

Idia completely forgot about Yuu's condition so when they switched powers he was more focused on closing the gate. He got grilled for that by Ace and Deuce who carried Yuu to the nurses.

I feel like this one is scary but more in the sense that Yuu has the power to the hell world.

Malleus (Fae of Maleficence)

Do I even need to say how bad this would be?

I know damn well most of Diasmonia is tweaking that Waka Sama just lost his power.

When Malleus learns it's Yuu he's more worried about them being stressed out over this and tries to help them the best way he could and even gets Lilia in on it.

Malleus is one of the top 5 mages in the world Yuu is probably one panic attack away from overblotting and putting everyone's ass to sleep.

Malleus is also concerned about the possibility of an overblot so he is definitely trying to keep them from overblotting. Whatever his child of man needs he will snap his fingers and it's done.

Yuu wants a massage? Malleus will arrange that. Yuu needs food he will buy Yuu some. Yuu wants ice cream? He wants some too. Yuu wants a fucking break? He will threaten Crowley for one.

He understands the power that was given to Yuu is a lot handle and will accommodate his Child of man (They are getting married after this)

He is also sending Silver and Sebek after the mage and the mage may or may not be existing after he finds her.

When Yuu overblots

As of 2/26/24 not all of Diasmonia has been updated/finished so I have no information as to how it will end/ how his overblot will go. But let's just imagine it.

Malleus fell into a dream world where he got to be happy with his Child of Man. He is King, he has children, and he's with his Child of Man happily. :SOBBING:

When he get pulled out from the dream he's like why :( probably all pouty since it was a good dream. And then remembers Yuu overblotted and is like no my child of man.

He is the first one to instantly get Yuu help bro can't teleport, but he can run and if he can still turn into a dragon he can fly.

He apologizes to Yuu even though he did all he could he still feel like he could have done more. He gets Yuu all of the treatments they need instantly and when the mage switches back their powers she is deader than his Mom.

[bitterlycursedstars]

Hmm. Very good question, anon. (I really hope you like this)

Cursed—

This man does not know how to do anything on his own outside of fighting.

Dishes? Puts soap in the cast iron pan. Cuts himself on a knife immediately, which is extremely ironic. Somehow gets water e v e r y w h e r e.

Cooking? Burns water. Reads "2 cups" of sugar instead of "2/3 cup". Accidentally set fire to the microwave while cooking an egg.

Making the bed? Immediately gets wrapped and tangled in the fitted sheet like Frodo after Shelob was finished with him.

Also, the man was trapped in the underworld for 20+ years. He cannot possibly smell good. He'd constantly smell like blood and sweat.

Heaven help you when he discovers "What Does The Fox Say?" He'll play it on repeat for literal hours on end AND sing every single word.

He's absolutely crazy about kittens, and will randomly bring 20 of them home one day. "But they were so small and soft. You could not possibly expect me to just leave them there. Foolish boy/girl."

He absolutely does not understand flirting or innuendos (yes, I know V does). "Hey, handsome. Every other seat is taken. Do you mind if I sit there?" *points to his lap* "I very much mind. Here- just take my seat instead."

Has constant resting bitch face that you'll just have to deal with.

Blessed—

As I've said many times before, this man will love and protect you til his very last breath. He knows how it feels to be hurt and abandoned, and he swears to never let you feel it from him.

He says absolutely not when you bring it up, but deep down he would adore a baby that he could watch grow up.

He frequently has nightmares due to his horrible past, so he pulls you closer to him in his sleep and holds you tightly all night as his whimpering slowly subsides.

One of his favorite activities is just sitting beside you as he quietly reads his book and sips a cup of hot tea, enjoying the closeness between you two.

He loves kissing your forehead, especially if you're shorter than him. It makes him feel strong and even makes him smile.

He'll never admit it, but he loves when you call him 'pretty boy'. He'll huff and look away from you, scowling, but he's really only try to hide the blush creeping up on his pale cheeks.

He especially likes it if you and Nero become close, since neither one of them grew up with much of a family.

[enchantedchocolatebars]

My new Belos Redemption AU headcanon

Centuries ago, as a witch hunter, Philip found Bill Cipher's altars in some people's houses many times and executed them for worshipping a demon. He traveled a lot in those years before a random portal took him to the Boiling Isles, and he was glad of this fight with a demon that was trying to blacken the innocent souls of people.

In every town or village, he asked people how the locals were behaving and checked on those who had been behaving unusually lately. He told people about the threat of the triangular demon, and they memorized every word. Because of Philip, Bill didn't have a chance in those years to get a servant on this continent who could build a portal for him. Philip did not listen to Bill when he came to him several times in his dreams.

Centuries later, having met and befriended Ford Pines, Philip told him about it and Ford was surprised and very happy that Phillip had done it all.  And then, when Ford found The Book of Bill, he called Belos, who was at the Noceda's house at the time, and told him that Bill still remembers Phillip and what he did, and even encrypted the phrase "CURSE WITTEBANE" in his book.

Ford and Philip had a good laugh about it, and then went to hide the statue of Bill in concrete so that no one could even accidentally shake his hand.

(I still have a lot of headcanons about the friendship of Belos and Ford in this AU (Because I've already talked about their friendship in AU, where Ford got to the Boiling Isles), but I just couldn't put off sending this idea anymore)

Anon's Belos and Ford friendship headcanon.

Also, I really, REALLY, like this!

Great explanation for the "CURSE WITTEBANE" translation in the book.

Bill and Belos having history + The Owl House universe being connected to the Gravity Falls universe is really good soup (stuff). 👍

[royalswordconfessions]

OKAY IM ALMOST FINISHED WHEN U FIND WJO GAVE THIS TWO ME THE STUDENT POPULATION WILL BE INE LESS.

istg this all happened because he popped out of nowhere, gave me a book, and told me to read the riddle

ALSO NO ITS NOT GRASCALEING OR WHATEVER

IHUH?????????

[nightcolorz]

Armand being the first pregnant vampire, and the first vampire to have an abortion. this came to me in a dream

LMFAOOO 😭😭😭 SCREAMING. Anon that was a dream sent by God and ur an official prophet. This is so funny I’m genuinely yelling oh my god 😭😭

Cw for not sensitive abortion talk but for some reason I feel the need to seriously analyze whether I think Armand would get an abortion if accidentally impregnated 💀 and I think it depends on who the child’s other father is and what part in canon we’re talking about 💀. I’m saying I doubt post canon Armand would abort Daniel’s baby (I think he’d be pro choice but low key one of those 🥺 god intended this baby to be in the world, it’s not my choice to rid it of its chance at a life 🥺 mfs, Armand would be like bodily autonomy is good for everyone but me). Also Armand thinks humanity is precious and children r wonderful so I imagine under some very specific circumstances he’d be happy to be pregnant 💀But if this is like Armand during one of his many insane eras and not Armand during his healing era he’d definitely no hesitation punch his womb with super vampire strength out of fear of passing on his curse of an existence to an innocent, then bury himself in rat shit in shame immediately after. And when it comes to fathers, Armand would abort lestats baby 🥺❤️ siring lestats child would be too claudia reminiscent and the kill instinct will go off immediately. Armand would abort Louis’s baby without telling him 😭 same logic. And Armand would stand over the stairs and have vivid fantasies about throwing himself down them and killing the fetus if Marius 😰 was the father, but then not do it bcus Armand thinks his maker is always entitled to authority over what he does with his body 🙏

ps book Armand (who I’m imaging for this scenario btw) canonically hallucinates the ghosts of dead children as some sort of trauma response, so I think that if he had an abortion he’d have hallucinations of a fetus just following him around some times 😭

[feinv]

Okay but John Wick and mutual pining makes my brain go brrr. Maybe he is hesitant to act on his feelings because she is his friend's daughter and there's age difference and she is just too sweet, so he doesn't want to drag her into this whole assassin thing. And she has feelings too, but is hesitant because doesn't think she is good enough or doesn't think he's interested, so they're just pining, longing, yearning and he's slowly going crazy

anon😫 stop this madness.

dbf!john wick x fem!reader. fluff. mutual pining. legal age gap (whatever u wanna imagine).

it took him a while to realize what was happening. and when it clicked in his head that he was sweet on you, he cursed himself in the mirror for being a literal fool and letting his guard down. but you were just…so sweet and kind, and a literal goddess in his eyes. he was ready to worship the ground you walked on. you two weren’t even a thing and he was already doing exactly that.

you would think a man like him would be looking for a wife, and you are definitely not mature enough to be one, but even that wouldn’t stop you from having feelings because he is just so perfect, and always treats you like no men ever did, straight out of a romance novel. :( john would be thinking the opposite. you were so young and probably wanted to experience life and have fun, so why would you even need and old man like him.

obviously your dad doesn’t know about his affection towards you, so he always tries to find you a partner and john is like. “i did my digging on him. he is an addict,” because he simply cares for his best friends daughter in a platonic way, nothing else.

during family gatherings you would either sit next to each other, or directly in front, exchanging silent glances. when he is next to you, he would accidentally brush his fingers against your thigh, knees touching, resting his arm on your chair, behind your back. and he sees you turning into a crimson puddle. he keeps himself a little sane by excusing that you’re just a shy thing and that’s your personality, but deep down he wants knows he is the one making you feel butterflies.

after the dinner when everyone is sort of hanging out in their own way, you two would always find each others company. he used to think he wasn’t built for long conversations, but what a surprise was it to him that he just needed the right person. and it was you.

he was so mesmerized with you because not only were you the prettiest human being he has ever seen, but you were also so intelligent and well read despite your young age. he would catch himself discussing books he was convinced only he has read, but you were always so full of interesting ideas and theories he just couldn’t help but stare at you lovestruck.

there would be moments where you two would just stare at each other in a comfortable yet intimately tense silence, wanting nothing more than to just kiss one another. he couldn’t bring himself to do the first move unless he had your consent. and you definitely wouldn’t lean first and make a fool out of yourself. so you and john would share mute and desperate glances like two idiots before one of you would start up yet another random topic for a discussion.

this man would always make you giggle, laugh and smile to the point that your cheeks would be hurting, while he would feel himself slowly descending into madness with every passing day in which he couldn’t call you his.

[jurdannetrevels]

Hallowed Greetings, Folks and Folk!

We are mere nights away from our potions being brewed, our spells being cast. And now, we have one final riddle for you, sweetmeat. You need only choose the prompt that screams to you most, and our High King or Queen might just treat you to it during the revel.

Be wicked, and cast this poll unto your realm for more powerful magic. You have seven sleeps! 🕯️🦇

Thank you so much to @rowanfaerie , @deesketches , and all of the lovely wondrous anons who contributed to the mystery flavour prompt section! 🖤

poll 1 | poll 2 | poll 3

[zushikiss]

This is very self indulgent but like very busy yanfei who is always visiting this cafe (says bcus the coffee there is great) but is actually there to catch a glimpse of reader who is a florist on the other side of the road. Both litteraly fawning over each other with their friends and coworkers.

Write it however u want but this was also kind of a drabble <3

summary ; you find the person behind the counter extremely attractive which is why you frequent their shop, but what happens when you finally shoot your shot/when they shoot their shot with you?

warnings ; cursing, fluff just like fluff and a bit of awkwardness but still fluffy and i think thats it yes

pairings ; yanfei, scaramouche x gn!reader [ seperately ]

notes ; ahhh anon i'm so sorry 😭 i misread this and i already finished with making yanfei's when i reread it :,) yanfei's is a bit different than what you requested so i apologize but i hope it's still okay, scara's part is so rushed since i accidentally posted this too early when i haven't even started on his part yet, might make a part two with diluc if someone requests :<

─ YANFEI

You kept smiling to yourself like a fool as you poured the milk into a heart shape, though a smile tugged on your lips your mind was running wild, how can it not when that gorgeous lady is sitting right there?? you don't know her name but guessing from the various books about law always scattered on her table you guessed she was a law student, or a lawyer.

You finally mustered up the courage to give her your number, you hesitated as you picked up the tissue with your number on it, aether's eyes were on you as his hands were glued to his phone, you guessed that he was updating the gc about your law student shenanigans, you sighed as you picked up a brand new tissue deciding to not go through with your plan.

"Stop being a pussy and just give it to her oh my archons, do it for me at least I am tired of your bullshit."

Feigning an offended face you decided to listen to your friend, you picked up the tissue with your number on it as you walked over to the law student's table, though unknown to you the said law student had been ranting to her private account about how amazing you look, she was stunned with how someone could look perfect while literally pouring liquid into more liquid, but in yanfei's eyes you always appeared perfect so she paid no mind to it.

Her heart did plenty cartwheels as she reached for the tissue, she was supposed to wipe her mouth with it, parallel to her you'd been on edge for the past 15 minutes, the gorgeous law student had been paying no mind to your tissue but instead focused on her laptop, but now that she saw it you couldn't help but hide below the counter, your co-worker trying his best to stop his laughter.

Well let's just say you received a text from a very beautiful pink haired individual later that day :)

─ SCARAMOUCHE

You enjoyed the peace and quiet, which is why you easily found solace in the small cat cafe near your house, not only was the cats' company amazing, you secretly adored the barista that worked there, from what you've heared from his co-workers his name waa scaramouche, oddly you thought it suited the indigo haired man.

You've went on numerous rants about how gorgeous and breathtaking this man was to your friends and you're sure that they're tired of you however you slowly worked up the courage to finally talk to him, and today's the day!!

"hi."

"hey?"

"i uh, my name's _____"

"..good to know?"

goddamn it he's cute but can't he just get the hint??

"look i think you're really cute, do you wanna watch a movie with me or something??"

The normally quiet and snarky man was nowhere to be found, the man who stood before you was completely flustered, a blush dusting over his cheeks as he directly avoided your eyes.

"With me? Are you sure??"

"Yes. 100%, Is that a yes or a no?"

"It's a yes.."

You certainly left the cat cafe with a little more than cat hair that day.

[aziraphales-library]

Lost Fic #157

1. Hello, first of all thank you for all your hard work 🫶 really appreciate! I'm looking for a fic i read about a year ago: unfortunately i can't remember much, so i apologise if it's a vague description. I also think i might be mixing some facts with this fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39533883 so i’m sorry if i’m making it hard to find. Trigger warning from here on (depression, su! c!de): the fic was set in the crowley's flat and the characters were canon (im pretty sure it was set a short time after S1's canon events, but somehow C still had holy water). Crowley had just suffered some sort of physical and emotional trauma (r@pe? sorry, i can't quite remember) and couldn't trust neither Aziraphale nor himself. He fell in a state of depression and couldn't see any other way out but use the holy water in his safe. (Spoilers) | remember a scene where he weakly walked to the safe and wrote a note, then tried to reach the thermos but was stopped last second by Aziraphale. Thank you in advance🫶; and if you manage to find it, congrats😅 - anon

2. Helloo I hope it's not too hard to find but I lost a fic on ao3 a bit ago I didn't finish reading and was hoping someone recognise it, it starts off with post apoca-nope Crowley being confronted by demons in his flat who tell him to stay away from aziraphale and summon a screen through which to view him. buuut since there was no audio they all missed a conversation between aziraphale and god in which god gives him a golden string (I think) and explains that metatron has been giving orders independently from god, then asks aziraphale to go to heaven and stirr up trouble. And that's when I accidentally closed the Tumblr app and lost it :( - anon

3. so theres this fic i was reading where its post canon but basically crozira gets locked up in heaven and crowley does his snake thing and releases them both (was in the beginning ish) but thats all i remember 😭😭 im sorry if this is too much to ask for, thank you in advance!!! - @stars-v3ria

4. Hello! I hope y'all are doing all right in what I imagine is a swamp of new asks from season 2's approach. (Writing this in the final few weeks til release.) I'm writing in search of a lost fic--I've scrounged through the Aziraphale's True Form tag but come up empty. It was T, M, or E rated, and more or less a true form sex fic, but may or may not have included genital sex. The part I remember (which I think was the focus of the story, it being a oneshot) was framed as a divinity/grace kink scene in which Aziraphale revealed his true form to Crowley. It was overwhelming to him (verging on pain iirc), but also very beautiful, intense, and possibly sensual or sexual. The part I really remember, though, came at the end-- Crowley, crying, used their safeword, which was "Amen." And after that I think it was more on the tender side. Would you happen to have encountered such a story? Thank you very much for your time, and potentially that of your followers-- I very much appreciate all the work you do for the fandom. <3 P.S. In case this reaches the author, and you with to remain anonymous, please know that the fic really stuck with me and I was merely searching for it in hopes of leaving a comment to that effect. &lt;3 - @elderly-worm

5. Hello! I was recently told about the (cursed) movie script and was told that there is a fanfiction of Book and Show Crowley saving movie Aziraphale from movie Crowley. The person said they're sure they read it on ao3 but cannot find it now and I'm extremely curious. Any help would be very appreciated and thank you so much for the library you're doing here, helped me to find a lot of gems. - anon

If you know any of these fics please include the number in your reply! Thank you :)

- Mod D